Mi Vida Not So Loca
by CarmellaD'Winter
Summary: Brittana and Faberry: Santana would follow Brittany to the end of the world: she chose a sleepy suburb to 'spend the rest of their lives'. Quinn was a bitchy unpopular but happy girl. Now she's a shy, quiet, 'keeping to herself' girl. Their lives will change a little; for better or worse, involving babies and girls...wait? Girls! Brittana Faberry
1. Prologue

**Hello everyone!**

**This is a Brittana/Faberry Fic and the idea has been floating around inside my head for a while – I actually talk out the conversations the characters are going to have when I ride my bike – so I thought I should write it before I loose it**

**Look out for my other Brittana fic I've begun writing **

**Thank you! I present to you; "Mi Vida...Not So Loca" **

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**Mi Vida...Not So Loca**

**Prologue**

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_Santana Maria Lopez:_

Ever since I met the love of my life Brittany more years ago than I can remember, I had done and said everything she wanted without question or (much) protest. It's what you did when you were in love. And like I said before, Brittany was the love of my life. Being with her was literally like being in a love song and cartoon all at the same time. When I was with her, no matter how crabby I had been feeling before hand, she would simply make me smile and I wouldn't even notice a hurricane sweeping us along in a storm. She made me feel ridiculously happy and gooey; like a melted caramel chocolate kiss. She was so perfect: bubbly, sweet, beautiful, overly kind to everyone she met and the best girlfriend in the whole world romantically. That's why I couldn't wait to make her my wife, once I had sorted a few issues out.

Having been born with a hard shell, I've never been one to be romantic, but that was until I started officially dating Brittany when we were both seventeen years old and in our senior year of high school. Before then, romance only belonged in movies and books that would make me roll my eyes so hard they would strain and bruise and make my stomach hurt so much through all the vomiting I wanted to do but had to hold down. But with Brittany, romance was actually a word I wanted to have in my vocabulary. I'd spend my time in class planning out special dates; deciding where to take her to eat and what movie she would like to see and checking weather reports to see if the sky would be clear enough and the air warm enough for us to take a hand in hand walk down the streets or through a park. I spent so much time planning out our dates that when it finally came to the time for me to pick her up – see, me picking her up – I would be really nervous and end up babbling and stuttering...but it wouldn't matter because she would be laughing and snorting behind her hand. Her blue eyes were sparkle even more than they usually did and her cheeks would blush a little pink blossom. The sight of her being so beautiful would make me forget my nerves and we would have a much better time than I had planned. I loved her so much back then I love her even more now. Even if she was making me drive all the way to a sleepy little town to live.

Since leaving college, after spending a gruelling four years apart due to our different majors being in different parts of the country, we'd been living in different parts of the good ol' United States of America. Brittany's job required her to keep moving around and who was I to stay at home like a fish in a tank? I wanted to follow her around like a puppy and keep her safe and happy. Her profession was a dancer, a back up dancer to be precise, but in actual fact she was so much more than a dancer: she was twirling, locking and popping, shimmying, waltzing (on occasion) goddess! The first time I saw her she was dancing and I never wanted to see her stop. Her list of priorities were me, dancing, breathing, food. Or maybe food then breathing. Either way, me and dancing were the most important things in her life and she was the most important thing in my life. The first time I saw her she was in a classroom dancing. I was a young freshman of my middle school trying to find my way through the crowded halls and had been bashed about by huge, smelly, bossy boys. I was sick and tired of it, so instead of heading to the cafeteria with everyone else heading down stream, I took a turn and walked a to the science labs purely because that's where I had overheard was a quiet spot to think. Not that I needed to think, really I just wanted some quiet where I could listen to some music and relax. But when I go to the row of science labs, I heard music and it wasn't coming from my headphones. I peered in through window after window trying to find the source of the sound and then I finally landed my eyes on an angelic ballerina. Having said that, she wasn't doing ballet, but that was besides the point. The point was I was transfixed by her movements and as I continued to watch her, my jaw had dropped and my eyes were wide with wanting to see as much as I could. From that moment – and as cheesy it sounds – I knew Brittany had danced into my heart and I wasn't letting her go.

So much was I in love with her, that when she told me she was going to dance in a sleepy little town to open up a dance studio to 'spend the rest of our lives' I didn't object. When she had said in the past that "This was where we were going to spend the rest of our lives" I always smiled, nodded my head and just carried on as normal. Of course, previously we had lived in big, noisy and overcrowded cities, so I knew that there was no possible way we were ever going to 'spend the rest of our lives' there. However as I continued to drive around the little streets following the moving truck, my eyebrows narrowed ever so slightly as my eyes focused more on our new surroundings. As we passed the streets I saw families. Lots of families. There were teenagers with their younger brothers and sisters, little kids with older siblings, parents with babies and toddlers, parents together, pregnant women together...it was like we were moving into a commercial for 'What Every Hopeful Grandmother Wants to See'. And I was a little scared. This was what Brittany, my beautiful, bubbly, darling Brittany was meaning by 'spend the rest of our lives'.

She wanted to settle down here. As in _settle down _as a _family_. She was hoping we would become a family. No longer a couple but moms with a _baby_. A baby! And by the time we pulled up into the driveway of our house – that thanks to Brittany was soon going to become our home – everything clicked into place. And I was a little terrified.

We were both from the suburbs and I had thought that I would never return to one. Not really anyway. I had majored in psychology at college and so I figured I would spend my adult life living in some fabulous penthouse apartment in an even more fabulous city like New York, tending to rich business men wanting to know why they kept on cheating on their wives and rich women wanting to know why they couldn't stop taking back their cheating husbands, when they knew it wasn't the sake for the children because they hadn't had any yet. Brittany was of course an amazing dancer. She too thought she would be living the rest of her life in the cities of the world dancing with famous singers and one day becoming just as famous. But I guess that wasn't all she wanted. She hadn't even really talked about opening up her own dance studio, let alone wanting a family. It just wasn't something we talked about. We were only young, twenty seven years old, and had only been married (or 'in a civil partnership' as some stupid states declared us as) for two years. Was that really a long enough period time of being married before babies came into the picture? It was something I needed to discuss with her, but first, we had the beautiful task of unpacking and getting our new house sorted before September in time for my new job.

In addition to Brittany setting up her own business, I got a new job. I only got this particular job because this was the place where Brittany wanted to set up her dance studio. Why here of all places, in this cow town full of losers (or 'families' as I guess they were) and where their version of Starbucks was named after a vegetable? Because it was somewhere where the arts weren't appreciated much. Sure they had a theatre at the school had a Glee Club and put on a play every once in a while, but the town was really one huge sports field and so Brittany being Brittany wanted to spread the joy of dancing, prancing and..dancing. So, I took a job at the local high school. They didn't have an extensive psychology department, so I took up the next best thing: teaching Spanish. I convinced the principle that I didn't need an actual teacher's certificate because unlike the other guy they had teaching the most beautiful and sexy language in world, Spanish was actually my first language. Besides, even a blind guy on Mars could see I was Latina, so the guy gave me the job of teaching a few classes of Spanish. It would be easy; teach the kids how to order a beer and "Where can a buy condoms" and get a paycheck so Brittany could fulfil her dream of teaching those same kids how to dance. And, maybe, down the line, help her fulfil her other dream: being a mom.

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_Quinn Lucy Fabray:_

Summer was a time for friends to hang out and relaxing and partying. Not for me. It wasn't that I was grounded and wasn't allowed to hang out with my friends, it was that I didn't have any friends. I wasn't some weird loner loser or anything..well maybe I was, but that was only because I had just moved into some new town. I wish we hadn't left where I lived before. At least not right now. I would be entering my junior year of high school and that is probably the second to worst time to move schools; the first being your sophomore year of high school closely followed by your senior year. It was so annoying. It wasn't like I was leaving a tonne of friends behind and some huge popularity that no one else would ever be able to fill, but it was the fact I was leaving two really special people behind: Kurt and Lucy. Kurt being my best friend, and Lucy being a part of myself.

Moving to a new place meant not only finding a new best friend, but also meant not finding my old self too much. I had finally just been able to loose enough weight to be considered 'normal' and finally gotten my acne under enough control so that I didn't actually need to wear any make up. I still needed to wear my glasses from time to time, like in classes and stuff, but I didn't mind that because I felt even smarter than I was. I still needed to wear my glasses from time to time, like in classes and stuff, but I didn't mind that because I felt even smarted than I was. I still needed to wear my glasses from time to time, like in classes and stuff, but I didn't mind that because I felt even smarted than I was. The problem with finding my old self was that I used to be kind of a bitch. Even though I wasn't popular and pretty or anything like that, I was still really mean to some of the kids. I'd like to think it's because they were mean to Kurt in middle school about the way he dressed and acted. In reality it was because I was afraid of something I didn't want to admit. In this new place, I had a new plan: I was just going to keep my head down and study so I could go somewhere I actually wanted to be. I hadn't decided where that place was yet, but I would find out.

Before moving to this new hell hole, Kurt had finally given me the approval of my wardrobe. I usually dressed in baby doll dresses and cardigans with ballet shoes. I had spent my life thinking this was perfectly acceptable clothing to wear on all occasions: apparently not. He had taken me out shopping and really bought me a whole wardrobe! Skinny jeans, cute yet slightly sexy tops and accessories. I liked the clothes. In fact I loved the clothes. I was comfortable and not at all self conscious but the problem was mom and dad didn't like them. They said it was no way for a 'young lady' to dress and practically ordered me to get rid of the clothes – by get rid of that meant donating them to our church's numerous charities. When I had finally packed them all up in a box labelled "The Clothes I Feel Awesome In" I just couldn't 'get rid' of them. Instead I kept them under my bed.

In this new place, I would keep my head down, not over think things and just try to keep my parents proud of me as much as possible. Whilst also wearing the new clothes.

Saying goodbye to Kurt was really tough. Although we'd email and talk as much as we could, it was still going to be hard. He would always be my best friend. Always. I promised him that, even though my dad didn't like him so much, but really he couldn't say who my friends were. He didn't like many of the guys I knew. They were either the sleazy type or the dorky type. Kurt was neither but my dad didn't like him for one reason: he was gay. He liked – no loved – fashion and singing and hated sports. I however, liked sports (cheerleading, swimming and gymnastics were the only sports I were allowed to take up) and liked listening to people singing and fashion..well I only really wore what my mom picked out for me. My mom didn't have too much of a problem with him, probably because he was one guy she was sure was never going to get me pregnant. Still, at this new place, I wasn't going to make a best friend. I would probably make friends, but no one close. Two years. That was the amount of time I was going to spend here and then I would be set free doing whatever I wanted and being with whoever I wanted.

As for Kurt, he cried a little and we did our not so secret handshake before I got in the car and we drove off. Off to this new cow town. Great.

**Stay in tune! Please read and review. I don't want to beg but if I have to...**


	2. Chapter One: First Class

**Mi Vida...Not So Loca**

**Chapter One:**

**First Class**

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_Santana Lopez:_

At seven thirty the world's most annoying noise woke me up. I growled so loudly I woke Brittany and her (our) cat, Lord Tubbington, up. When Brittany giggles and rubbed my back soothingly, I stretched my arm over and smashed the damn thing. Well actually I just hit my hand on the button and then knocked it off the bedside table, but I wanted to grab it and throw it against the wall or smash it with a hammer or my fist. As the noise was silenced I groaned and nestled back into the pillows, before I felt the little dip in bed. I knew exactly what it was. I know it wasn't Lord Tubbington because the overgrown feline was way too lazy to move at any time in the morning, so it had to be the one thing in the world I wanted waking me up. Soon enough I felt a pair of perfect lips at the top of my back moving up my my neck to my head and then down to my hot cheek. As well as the pair of perfect pink lips, I felt the loose strands of perfect blonde hair tickle my back and cascade around my face. The weight on top of me was comforting and wonderful as I felt a pair of perfect perky – unfortunately covered – pair of breasts press into my back as well. I felt myself moaning in delight into my pillow and a smirk appear on my lips as the strands of hair grew and a shadow cascaded over my face. Finally I felt her hot beautiful breath on my face as she breathed into my ear; "Good morning Ms Lopez." I would never tire of that sexy yet somehow innocent voice waking me up. Even if it was at such an ungodly hour!

Humming I turned over to face her, with her hovering above me now, but before I opened my eyes I took hold of her face in my hands and brought her lips to mine in a good morning kiss. She held me by my ribs and rubbed her thumbs slowly in the grooves she found. The feel of her thumbs made my body tingle and the feel of her lips and tongue on mine made me fill with jingles and make my heart pump quicker. I tried to keep our good morning kiss going as long as possible, but Brittany being Brittany – and that meant responsible, good and perfect – meant that her lips were brought away from mine with a juicy sounding cluck. Now I opened my eyes and groaned again as a blinding light hit my eyes. However once my eyes adjusted to the horrible bright light, instead of a frown on my face, a smile appeared in its place because I was met with the most beautiful sight in the whole world: my wife. Her face was smiling down at me with an innocent smile and sleepy, yet incredibly sexy eyes. "Good morning Ms Lopez-Perice." I replied to her, hating how croaky my voice sounded. Furrowing my eyebrows I cleared my throat and tried to sound like me and not some monster. She giggled and pressed another kiss on my face. Unfortunately it was on my forehead and not my lips. She tried to do it quickly but softly, but I kept her there by holding her back and pressing her body onto mine. Giggling once again, she protested as I moved my head so that her lips crashed with mine again.

I loved that we were now teachers. Even though it was a profession I never thought I would go in, it still had an element I liked about it. The fact that my fantasises had been driving me wild at the end of the long days unpacking decorating over this summer, was even better. After a particularly long, hot day of moving books and DVDs and all other kinds of crap we had to move and rearrange in the various rooms, Brittany was laying spread on the bed in her dungarees and messy pigtail plaits heaving heavy sighs. Even though we were both cheerleaders in high school and pretty awesome athletes – if I do say so myself – we were both exhausted. We'd moved several times, but never before in an actual house. With two floors! Mostly we'd lived in apartments where we just have removal guys bring all the heavy stuff in and move them around. Why we decided to put the furniture up and move it all ourselves I don't know. Still Britt was on the bed probably just about to drift off to sleep when I entered out bedroom.

Don't get me wrong, I was exhausted too. Even though I was used to these temperatures, it was still way too hot, and the amount of stuff we had done was completely draining. Having said that, the weather nor the labour we had done could deter me away from being hot and sexy with my wife. Whilst she was trying to cool and calm herself down by breathing deeply and letting out little sighs, I had changed into my sexy teacher outfit. I'd put on a tight black pencil skirt, white blouse with the sleeves rolled up and left the top buttons undone so they left just enough cleavage to be desired and I tied my hair up in a curled pony tail with a red rose sticking out of where my hair tie was. Finally my make up was virtually non existent, it was way too hot, so instead I just put on my favourite deep red lipstick and stood at the foot of the bed. "Well, well, well napping whilst in class Miss Pierce?" As soon as my wife heard my sultry tone, her eyes snapped open and her jaw dropped once again. When my feet started to walk around the bed to get to her, I wish I had a cane or something I could be using to slap my hand with. Instead I just ran my hands up and down my body slowly. Brittany was watching me with startled yet aroused and hungry eyes. "Are you not going to sit up for your _favourite teacher_?" I drawled out my last two words and winked at her. Like a lightening bolt she sat up and crossed her legs. "I'm sorry, Ms Lopez, I didn't mean to be rude," in her little innocent voice, she answered, with a little pout and fluttering her long blonde eyelashes at me. I lifted my leg up and placed it on the bed with my knee bent and began to run my hands from my feet up my shin, over my thigh and then back down again. "Good. Because do you know what I do with rude, naughty, naughty girls?" I shook my head with each adjective and I could see she was trying desperately not to bite her lip. Slowly she shook her head, keeping her eyes on my more exposed chest. This time I placed my knees on the bed and bent over, extending my backside in the air. "Well Brittany," I whispered in a hushed, seductive voice, as I crawled to her, "I'll just have to show you."

Needless to say, our favourite 'game' to play was taking turns in who was going to be the teacher and who was going to be the student. It was incredibly sexy and we loved that we were really teachers now.

We kissed but not for long enough as soon, Brittany was tearing herself away from me again, getting off my body and out of the bedroom completely as she made her way into the en suit bathroom we had. Normally her hips would sway seductively and she would stretch her arms above her head, moving her shoulders up and down and doing a sort of Bollywood dance with her hands. This would normally be an indication to her wanting me to join her in the shower, but as this was our first day at our jobs, we wouldn't have the luxury of showering together. From my laying down position on the bed, I watched her go in and close the door. Letting out a frustrated roar, I sat up and shook my hair around before taking the hair bobble off my wrist and tying my hair up into a swishy pony tail. Slamming my fists onto the mattress I rolled my neck and then clambered off the bed to welcome my second love of my life: coffee.

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_Quinn Fabray:_

My usual regime – or at least my _summer _regime – of waking up usually consisted of me turning my beeping alarm off, stretching my arms above my head and getting out of bed to do some more morning stretches. Since I love sport so much, I know it's important to take care of my body by working my muscles up slowly so then I didn't hurt myself with any strain. I would then make my bed and get dressed in some running gear and go for a long run before returning and having a shower, dressing and having breakfast. However, because this was not my summer, it meant I had to make myself a whole new routine. I still turned my alarm clock off, stretched and made my bed, however instead of going for a run I opted to do do some push ups and sit ups. They didn't wake me up like a run would, but it was something. I then headed for the shower.

As I had only been here for a couple of months – and had decided to get a head start on keeping to myself – I hadn't really found my way around yet. For my run I chose to do laps around one of the track fields near where I lived and power walked through the forest park. I liked nature, so I didn't mind so much spending my work out hours there, but I much preferred running on the streets. Running laps and round and round in circles was horrible. It was exhausting and not the right kind. I hated it because it meant you weren't going anywhere. I much preferred to run to the end of the world and never come back. I'd run to the end of the universe and never come back if I could! But because I didn't want to see many teenagers I might then see at my new school, I figured keeping to the shadows of the trees and the orange dust of the track would be best. The only place I couldn't escape from seeing people – and by people I mean teachers – was church. Being ultra religious Christians my family and I attended church every Sunday. By family I mean me, my mom and my dad. I have an older sister too but I don't see much of her. She's already living her life the way she wants to.

Church wasn't so bad. There weren't as many teenagers as I thought, and the teenagers I did see were pre-teens or middle schoolers and so didn't count. As my dad was infamous for making acquaintances with important people, we of course had to have dinner with the pastor and his family. This was where of my problems began: he had a son my age who would be going to my school. Or I would be going to his school. His name was Sam (Samuel) and was basically my twin: blonde, sparkly eyes and almost the same hight. The first time I met him, I was sure Kurt would have a crush on him. Still, Sam was completely straight, so straight in fact that our parents tried to set us up on dates. Still I guess having Sam Evans around wouldn't be too bad. We'd hung out a little after church during the summer but that was about it. I was dead set on keeping myself as hidden as possible. Low key was key; that was my new motto.

Having a friend in Sam meant that on my first day of high school – new one of course – I wouldn't have to use my car. It had been a gift from my dad on my sixteenth birthday. I think it was a bribe so I would try and get new friends. Like having a car was going to make me have friends! Everyone had cars at my old school, so it wasn't like there was some club! Besides, I was more than happy with Kurt. He wanted me to have more girlfriends. Of course, when he realised what I said, he took it back immediately and clarified; he wanted me to have more _friends _who were _girls_. Heaven forbid I ever...well, not that it mattered. I wasn't interested on going on dates or being anyone's girlfriend for a long time. Not until I was independent and my own person. So maybe when I get to college. A college far, far away from my parents.

At eight thirty on the dot, Sam pulled up outside my drive way. I had been having breakfast with my parents – well I had been trying to have breakfast with my parents, but my mom kept on picking bits off invisible lint off my cardigan and tucking my hair behind my ears – when he pulled up. I kissed my dad on the forehead as he scanned his newspaper and drank his coffee and then kissed my mom on her cheek before grabbing my overly feminine book-bag and heading out of the door. I'd checked I had everything before leaving my room, so I knew all I had to do was just keep my head up and keep on walking to Sam's car. Yet, even though I knew I had my pens, pencils, books, money, keys and cell phone in my bag, I still fiddled about as I made my way to his car. It was weird. Like a nervous reaction or something. But I wasn't worried. Was I? I mean it was only school and if I stuck to my plan of being invisible and keeping my head down, I would be fine. So why I was nervous? I guess it was because every teenager knows what horrors high school was. Even though I was almost done with high school, I still knew what an awful time it was and as soon as I was in the front passenger seat with Sam, I was more than just nervous, I was scared.

"Hey what's up pretty lady?" Sam asked me in a weird voice. Sam was a nice guy and his impressions made me smile. I released a breath of anxiety and turned to face him. His big eyes were looking at me with kindness and a look of 'I know what you're feeling'. "It's weird but I think I'm just a little nervous." I told him and shrugged my shoulders. He smiled a little wider at me and then put his hand on my arm. "Don't be nervous Quinn," he told me with his slightly southern accent and lopsided smile, being a real charmer. "Just two more years and we're out of here right?" And just like that he had put all my fears to rest by saying my mantra. Well one of them anyway. I beamed at him and nodded my head. "Exactly. Only two more years." With that said, he took his hand off my arm, put the car into drive and we headed off to Mckinnley High School.

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_Santana Lopez:_

My first class of the day was going to be teaching one of the sophomore classes. I wasn't too heartbroken that I wasn't going to be able to scare some freshmen into worshiping me right away, but I guess a little bit of the old 'sexy but evil teacher' routine wasn't going to hurt so much. Although I sound reluctant about this job, I actually do want it, especially if Brittany is going to at some point drop the bomb on me that she wants to start having babies – or 'lady babies' as she calls them oh so adorably. It's not that I didn't want a baby it was just that..babies were never part of my plan. Brittany has been my best friend and soul mate for as long as I could remember – she firmly believe we knew each other in past lives and even before we were conceived! - and so I suppose I had always figured she knew me just as well as I knew her. We never really talked about babies. Not even in hypothetical terms. I think anyway. I mean she had a younger sister and always talked about how when she was born she was convinced she was actually her baby. Admittedly I thought it was a little weird at first, but then it just became yet another thing I loved about her. There were too many things I loved about Brittany and one of them was that she wanted to help other people. Not only help them so they wouldn't get bored and get into trouble or waste their lives away, but so they could find a hidden talent or pursue a talent they knew they had but didn't quite know how good they were. And I guess that was the main reason why I got this job. She had a job too but it wasn't going to pay as much as mine. Keeping with the dancing theme – considering that was her life – she got hired as an assistant ballet instructor for little kids at the health center. It wasn't much but at least she still got to dance. That bad news was that it was no doubt going to make her more broody.

The two of us had money saved up, but what with college loans still be paid off and down payments on the house and all other money matters, setting up your own dance studio was expensive. And hard work. Not only did she have to buy or rent a building, she had to put her own mark on it. Depending what kind of building she got in the end, she would have to make sure it was dancer-proof. Mirrors had to be put up, air conditioning had to be installed, the floors had to be different depending on what kind of dance, changing rooms and bathrooms had to be hygienic as well as look good...It was going to be one heck of a job, but knowing how dedicated my wife was, I knew she would be able to do it. All through the summer, as well as making our house a home, Brittany and I had been looking at parts of the community where she thought it would be best to set up her dream; "Dance Your Socks Off Studios". She had of course come up with the name and had make a lot of lists of names ranging from song names – like "Bubble Toes" - to really cute but not quite the 'it' name she was looking for – like "Step to the Beat". She came up with "Dance Your Socks Off Studios" because we were actually dancing around our living room, listening to some classic tunes from the legendary Whitney Houston and she was twirling me around so much I actually slipped out of my socks and crashed into the wall. I was laughing so hard (and slightly numb with the pain of hitting my head into concrete) that I didn't hear her apologies. I didn't care. She was having fun and that was all that mattered. "Dance Your Socks Off Studios" might not be the most catchy of names but Brittany liked that once it got really good, she could make t-shirts with the logo on it 'DYSOS' and she said was almost like "Dios", the Spanish word for "God" and considering I had always called her a dancing Goddess, she liked it. Not only is my wife beyond beautiful, but she is smart and creative too. She completes me, as Sid from Ice Age would say.

Still I figured having an almost graduated class to start my day with wouldn't be too bad; they should at least know how to have a conversation which was all I really cared about considering how many native Spanish speakers there are that live in the US. As I looked through my extensive schedule even more, I thought it was probably a good idea because at least then I would be able to see what I had to work with. Before my class started, I figured I would start my day the right way: with yet another cup of coffee. Brittany is most definitely, without a doubt, one hundred percent the love of my life. But my mistress will always be coffee. Legend has it, instead of breast milk my mom gave me fresh ground coffee. That's probably why I'm so alert all the time. I have to be; I have to protect my wife from all the creeps in the world.

Making my way over to the coffee machine I saw a guy with curly brown hair and a hideous sweater vest. He was sipping his coffee and reading a book, leaning on the side. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips were moving as he read the words. Curious – but really because I wanted my coffee – I figured I'd start a conversation. After all I was going to be spending the next however many hours surrounded by teenagers, it would be nice to have some adult interaction. Of course, the only adult I really wanted to interact with was my wife. Still, this guy would do. He was the only one who didn't appear to be some sleazy creep or smelly weirdo. Plus he looked to only be a couple years older than me, which was a major plus considering most of the other members of staff were probably older than mi abuela y mi abuelo combined. Flicking my hair back over my shoulder – and coincidentally wearing the same outfit I wore for Brittany when we first played 'Teacher/Student – I put on my fake "Nice to meet you" smile and reached over for a mug. "Hi I'm Santana Lopez, the new Spanish teacher." I either took the guy off by surprise or he was just super friendly, because he snapped his book shut and grinned at me the world's biggest smile. "Oh hey!" He kind of cheered really loudly and stuck his hand out, once putting his coffee down, "I'm Will. Schuster. Will Schuster. I'm also a Spanish teacher here." His grip was firm but still kind of limp. I guess it's because I'm Latina and he didn't want to crush the bones in my hand, huh. Still I shook his hand and replied; "Nice to meet you."

For the next five minutes or so we began to have that typical 'getting to know you' conversation. I let him do most of the talking because other than Brittany, mi familia and few close personal, life long friends, I don't really share stuff about me. It turned out he coached the school's Glee Club and he was talking about their competitions and how one of the kids in the club (Farrari? Bently?) makes the costumes and sometimes brings her church choir in to do some of the songs with them. As he began talking about his club, I immediately thought he was gay; not that I'm stereotypical (considering looking at me I am really not what you would call your 'typical lesbian') or anything, but the hair was one thing but the fact he mentioned he had been in the school's Glee Club when he went to the school, I immediately thought he was the mayor of Gay-Town. That was until I noticed his little wedding ring.

Continuing to sort of drown him out, I began to think of all the information I had read about this place. I didn't think it was a very LGBT friendly area, let alone allowing gay couples to actually get married. Considering California had just retracted their law about gay and lesbian couples from marrying and yet New York City had declared they were making it legal, I highly doubted a small town like this would be opening its arms up to the gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgendered members of the community with open arms into their matrimonial ceremonies and calling them 'married'. That was another reason I didn't want to have a baby (just yet or ever). It was the fact there was just so much prejudice, especially in small towns. Being in a big city like New York or San Francisco or Chicago was great because you were just one in a million and no one cared. Here, where we lived now, it was one of those towns where everyone new you and your business. Taking Brittany and I as an example; we're from two completely different cultures. I'm Hispanic and a hot and fiery Latina in every sense of the word. I speak my mind, I'm an awesome cook and I look out for girl. Brittany is a pale, blonde haired, blue eyed Dutch girl with a heart purer than gold and a soul more beautiful than heaven. There was a time when we would be frowned upon just by being friends! Also if I was a boy or if she was a boy and we were dating, there was a time when that would have been a huge no in the eyes of the community. I can't stand prejudice. Not everyone I'm sure has those kinds of feelings around here, but looking at this staff room and the town in general, I'm pretty sure I'm not far off on my assumptions. Plus I gathered the church was a pretty big deal around here, considering as I passed the notice board there were several sign up sheets and posters about joining the celibacy club and the 'Christ Crusaders' and having church brunches. Brittany and I weren't totally religious. Sure we went to church at Easter and Christmas and prayed and stuff, but mostly we were cultural. Unlike this town, we weren't prejudice. If you had a different skin colour, religion, sexual orientation, or a disability of some sort then we didn't care. As long as you were a good person that's all we cared about.

Those were the kind of things I wanted to install into people; specifically any children I would ever had. But not in a place like this. I was shocked Brittany actually wanted to live here at all. I had done some research on the place and found out there was a gay couple that lived here and were actually driven away because of all the homophobia. Granted it was decades ago where black people still had to give up their seats on the bus, but I was still a little unsure. But, what Brittany wants, Brittany gets, especially when she pouts and gives me her bush baby look.

Just as I was about to ask if he had a husband or a boyfriend or something, a ginger haired woman with eyes way more bush baby like than Brittany came up to us. She was definitely a woman out of the nineteen fifties. Her hair was permed in a way you see the models for dishwashers and vacuum cleaners would have from that time. Her clothes were very typical of that time and just looking at her briefly I couldn't work out if the way she walked and held herself was like she had been trained to do that by some private school from the nineteen hundreds or she had been born in Imperial China and her feet were actually bound together. Taking a quick glance at said feet, they were pretty small. Suddenly I was being introduced to her. Will had put his arm around her shoulder and brought her to his torso, kissing her lightly on the lips, with her smiling softly at him and her cheeks tingeing with a slight school girl blush. "Santana this is my wife, Emma." The woman – Emma – then turned her attention fully on me and presented her small hands to me. "Hello Santana, I'm Emma Pillsbury the school guidance counsellor." I took her dainty hand and shook it, being careful to mimic Will's handshake before so I wouldn't accidentally hurt her. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion slightly. "Pilsbury?" I asked, then turning to Will, "I thought you said your name was Schuster?" Emma then gasped a little and put her dainty fingers to her mouth and began to babble. "Oh yes of course, we only just got married you see this summer. I still haven't gotten used to being Mrs Schuster yet!" The two of them began to giggle to each other in, I guess, what was an adorable little honeymoon period way. I was trying to keep my cold, distant expression, but watching the two of them reminded me of when Brittany and I just got married.

Once they were brought out of their little love induced bubble, they turned back to me. Emma then explained how at school she was going to remain being called 'Miss Pilsbury' so not to confuse the students. "Being a school counsellor it's good to have and keep familiarity between the students," she explained further. Nodding my head I showed her I understood, and continued to sip my coffee. Then Will opened his own mouth to speak. "So what about you Santana? What makes you come here?" This was the part of the 'getting to know you' conversation I was dreading: talking about myself. I know that times have changed since all the homophobic horror stories I had read about were around, but I still was a little unsure how to answer. Did I tell people I was not only a lesbian but was also married (or in a stupid 'civil partnership) to another woman? Instead, I chose to go with the easy stuff: background. "Well I actually majored in psychology, but the school doesn't have a class to teach so figured Spanish would be the next best option considering I'm fluent and, even though I was born here in America, I grew up in Buenos Aires until I was ten and lived in Puerto Rico for some time." The two of them looked kind of impressed, only I'm not sure why. I guess they weren't as prejudice and stereotypical as I thought, to me anyway. I guess just because my last name is 'Lopez' and I'm clearly Latina, doesn't necessarily mean I speak Spanish. Will then smiled and proceeded to touch my shoulder – something I would have considered to be sexual harassment in any other situation – and said; "Well it's good for the kids to have a native speaker around here! Maybe you'll be able to teach them something I don't know!" The jolly couple then began to laugh at his little joke, so I joined in too. Of course I was going to teach them something he doesn't know. For starters, my first 'Frase del Día' would be "Obtenga su mano de mi hombro!" - in case 'Mr Schuster' didn't know, that meant 'Get your hand off my shoulder!"

Soon enough the bell went and the teachers' lounge was beginning to empty. Will and Emma said their goodbyes and I gulped down the last of my coffee. I knew that as soon as I would be walking down that hallway I would get stares. Not to be overly shallow or vain, but I had always been attractive. It was a shame I wasn't bisexual in a way, because then at least everyone could get a go at having me as their arm candy. Well, not everyone of course. I only had eyes and a heart for one person, and she had my heart safely nestled away in a secret chest. Like Davy Jones from the Pirates of the Caribbean films. Still, as I saunter down the crowded halls, in my tight black pencil skirt, high heels and buttoned up white blouse with the sleeves rolled up, topping my 'look' off with a red rose in my hair, I knew I had everyone's attention. It felt like I was back in high school and I was parting the halls like Moses and the Red Sea in my cheerleading uniform. As predicted I got a few wolf whistles and some of the boys made passes at me. They can make all the comments they want about my fabulous – all natural – body, they'll never get anywhere near me. Number one; they are high school boys and number two; they're boys. The most important number of course, is the fact that I already have all I could ever want in a partner in Brittany. Still, a little bit of harmless teasing couldn't do any harm.

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

I knew that as soon as I would be walking down that hallway I would be getting stares. Of course I would. I was 'the new girl'. It was clear I wasn't a freshman, which made it even worse. At least then I could just blend it and shrug it off as being a part of the 'new kids' club. Sam said he had to 'dash off' because he had to sign up on the try-outs sheet for all the sports clubs, so I was left alone to suffer the long walk to my first class. This high school was just like my last: over crowded, stinky and noisy. Perhaps keeping my head down and being invisible wasn't going to be such a tough job after all. The football players were using the halls as their private field, so as long as I kept out of their way I would be safe from a concussion and the popular (I presumed) bitchy girls were standing together with some sort of forcefield around them so I was definitely going to stay away from them and finally, the 'other kids' were just kind of scattered around. There were no cliques I belonged to. I was and always had been my own person. As long as I either stuck with Sam for school rides, the occasional hang out and by myself I would be fine.

My first class of the day was Spanish. At my old school I didn't take the language. We had a choice of what to take out of the options. Kurt and I both decided to take French considering it was the language of love and we planned to go there some day. Unfortunately the French class was all full by the time we got our forms to the correct people and instead we had to take two years of Russian. My dad was not happy when he found out I would be taking Russian considering he had family who had "Fought the war against Communism". Needless to say, for the for the next two years of my life, instead of learning a foreign language, I had to take extra English. Obviously I was fluent in it, but my dad wanted me to take extensive literature and languages classes. So whilst Kurt was learning one of the hardest languages in the world, I was learning some of the most boring: Shakespearean English and old English and middle English...Don't get me wrong, I like English. I love poetry and adjectives and painting a picture just with words, but sometimes one just has to say halt! He tried to do the same with this school, claiming that he didn't want his daughter to learn the language of the "Illegal immigrants stealing all American's jobs and money" and that he didn't want me "Conversing with the people who sell oranges at the side of the road". My mom just rolled her eyes and told him that it would be good for me if I knew another language. Especially Spanish as so many people in business spoke it. Now that my mom had stepped in by bringing in money and business – two of my dad's favourite words besides religion – it was official: I would be spending the next two years of my high school life learning Spanish.

At least my teacher sounded like she knew what she was talking about. Her name was Señora Lopez. Just saying her name in my head sounded muy sexy, so just imagining her saying it was going to make my mouth water. And everyone else's of course. It would just be weird if I was the only one drooling over her name. Unless of course she was some small, fat, ancient woman who just yelled Spanish curses at us. But I was hoping I would be wrong in that aspect. When I walked into the classroom, everyone was sat on their desks or at their seats talking with their friends. The noise was outstanding; almost as loud as the hallway! Most of the seats on the front row were empty. In fact, all but one seat were empty. The occupied seat sat a brunette girl at it. Even though her hair was covering her face because she was hunched over slightly reading a book and scribbling notes down in another, she was tanned. Maybe from being away on vacation or maybe it was just her natural colour. Either way, that wasn't the only thing I noticed. Her sweater was cute, pink with little orange carrots on it, but I could just hear Kurt now making a shock gasp, and then running to the girl and lighting it on fire with her still wearing it. Then he would look at her with a deadly serious look and an even more deadly serious tone; "It was the only thing I could do." The thought made me snort and the girl looked up. Crap. Not only was she staring at me, but I was staring at her.

I'm not sure if it's from all of my extensive literature reading or just the reading I do in my own time, but either way I was definitely influenced by what the writers called 'love at first sight'. Of course I wasn't experiencing love at first sight because..well because she's a girl and I didn't like girls in that way. If anything, Sam was probably (unfortunately) going to end up being my boyfriend by the end of the first semester. Still, just because I didn't like girls in that way, didn't mean I couldn't find her attractive. If you took away the hideous sweater with a big white bunny and carrots on it and maybe took away the matching headband, you could say she was..beautiful. Long dark flowing hair (even though it was being tamed by the pink headband) and huge brown Bambi eyes. Her lips were full but not grossly so like Sam's and on anyone else her nose would look hideous that would automatically screamed 'Jew', on her it looked kind of sweet. It gave her 'character' as my mom would say. But going back to her eyes, the more I looked at them the more I could see little sparkles in them. Like stars. They were pulling me in, drawing me into her and I just couldn't look away.

"Would you like to sit down?" She asked, her light and innocent sounding voice shocking me out from my thoughts. Did I want to sit down? Yes, because I knew the class would be starting soon and I didn't want to be the last one standing. Did I want to sit down _at the front_? No. But yes for two reasons: one so not everyone in the room could see my glasses and two, it meant I could sit next to her. Even though I didn't want to make any friends – kind of including Sam – that didn't mean I wanted to be completely alone in my first class on my first day. Did it? Still, the bell rang again and I could see the other kids were taking their seats. I smiled quickly at her and sat in the seat to her right. Almost as soon as my backside hit the chair, she was talking. "My name's Rachel Berry, what's your name?" She spoke at such a speed I actually had to blink to sort of clear my mind a little. _What did she say? Rachel? Rachel was her name? And did she just ask me for mine? Probably. Most likely._ Her hand was presented, waiting for me to take it and so I did, saying my name. "I'm Quinn. Quinn Fabray, I just moved here." And then it happened. That spark. That click. That turning point that the writers in my old books talk about. Not only was there love at first sight there was love at first touch. Not that I was in love, not with anyone but especially with her, because she was a girl. And I don't like girls that way.

* * *

_Santana Lopez: _

Lucky for me my students were already sat down with their notebooks and their pens out. Even though this would be my first class teaching, ever, I wasn't nervous. If anything I was kind of excited. I knew I probably wouldn't be in this same job for too long (or at least I hoped) but whilst I was here I would enjoy it. As much as possible anyway. Again, just as I had predicted it, the jaws on the students dropped and their eyes widened. If any of the boys gave me crap then I would be able to tease them and flirt with them to do their work. As for the girls..well, that was slightly more dangerous considering I'm attracted to them. Not high school girls, I mean girls in general. Walking into the room more and scanning their faces, I then began to feel nervous. It made me rethink a few things: number one being my wardrobe. Maybe this 'sexy teacher' look wasn't the most appropriate, especially because I was very much in love and happily married. I couldn't afford having students who had crushes on me. I wouldn't be able to handle it. I'd either play along and get into trouble or tell them straight (and a little harshly), make them cry and get into trouble. There was no win/win situation there for me and I wasn't used to those. Still, I had to persevere. I was their teacher and they were my students. We both had jobs to do. Mine was to teach and make money for Brittany and theirs was to learn.

"Hola clase," my technique for figuring them out was to teach them the way I was taught English once we moved back to America: bombard them with Spanish until they picked it up. They mumbled back with a typical response of "Hola Señora" and a few actually greeted me with "Buenos dias" which I wasn't too surprised at, but glad they used considering they had just come back from summer vacation. After that tiny little greeting, I then began my plan of action: full on Spanish speaking blitzkrieg. "Buenos dias clase, ¿que tal? Vale, me llamo Santana Lopez, sin embargo, usted va a referirse a mí como la Señorita López. ¿Está claro?" I raised my eyebrows at them and sure enough, all of their faces were a little shocked. Clearly they had never been blitzed before. However this wasn't the blitz; this was merely friendly fire. Clapping my hands I continued, not wanting any of them to interrupt me. "Bueno, vamos a empezar con algo fácil: frases de conversación," I had turned around at this point to write on the board in loopy letters "Frases de Conversación" and then I turned back round to them, only to see one very eager looking brunette girl in the front row writing down the title. I was impressed; my first suck up! Clapping my hands once more, I began with my class.

Whilst the class were mumbling phrases they had repeated so often like robots, I noticed there was one girl on the front row who wasn't even trying to join in. The phrases were easy. I imagined kindergarten children saying them with more enthusiasm in their sleep, so I couldn't understand why this girl wasn't opening her mouth or even attempting to just mumble anything. I silenced the group by holding my hands up like a priest and I pointed to the girl. "Chica," I announced and she looked up at me.

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

I was sure there were two reasons why Señora Lopez had suddenly picked on me. It was either to ask me why I wasn't repeating the phrases back with everyone else, or because I was shamefully staring at her chest. It was merely comparison and nothing more. Girls could do that. They could look at other women's breasts and compare them to their own. Sure mine had probably stopped growing a long time ago, but that didn't mean I couldn't...observe to see what a real woman's body looked like. Right? Even so I snapped my eyes up to her own and opened my mouth to speak. "Er..Si?" I asked a little unsure. Just from looking around the room and hearing stuff from television, I knew that "yes" was "si" and "no" was "no" and other really basic manner stuff, but I still didn't like that I stuttered slightly. Señora Lopez didn't seem to mind too much, she just sort of scrunched her eyes up a little at me. "Nombre?" She asked and again I was just assuming she was asking for my name, considering what else would she be asking? Again, I stuttered and I wasn't liking it. If I wanted to remain invisible I had to stop drawing attention to myself: I couldn't be known as 'the stutterer'. "Er...My name's Quinn. Quinn Fa-"

"No, no, no en Español por favor." She had stopped me just as I was getting to my last name. And now she wanted me to repeat myself but in Spanish? Great.

Under the pressure I tried to remember what she had said when she first introduced herself. That felt like a whole year ago now! I was hoping she would just drop it and continue with the lesson so I could tell her quietly in private that I didn't actually know anything in Spanish. Well, except for "yes" and "no"! She jumped in just as I was about to mention I didn't know anything with a harsh sounding command; "¡Date prisa!" It made me jump and I suddenly didn't care that she was probably going to yell at me again for not speaking in Spanish. Sighing, I shrugged my shoulders. "I can't speak Spanish. I don't know any."

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

To say I was a little shocked that a sophomore kid could get this far in school and not know how to say "My name is" in Spanish would be an understatement. Still I could see the girl's blush on her delicate fair skin beaming at me loud and clear – it reminding me of Brittany – so I chose not to continue embarrassing her any more. Instead I nodded my head and turned back to the board.

Within no what felt like no time at all, I had them writing down their homework assignments and sending them off on their way. Everyone except the blonde girl. I had to know her deal. I had to know if she was like Brittany and just learned differently or if she was just shy. She was about to leave her desk when I stopped her. "Quinn," I called out and jutted my head over to where I was sitting at my desk. The brunette she was sitting with smiled at her and said she would meet her at lunch, to which the blonde simply nodded her head and walked up to me. She looked kind of timid and for a brief moment I hoped I hadn't accidentally scared her too much. And then I remembered that it didn't matter if I had scared her or not: I was the teacher and she was the student. She had to fear me as a matter of respect.

"Si Señora Lopez?" She asked, gripping onto the strap of her book bag tightly. She looked as if I was going to shoot her or something. I figured I'd cut her some slack. "So you do know some Spanish?" I smirked at her, and she seemed to relax a little. Leaning back in my chair a little, I thought I'd approach her like I approached Brittany. And how I wish teachers at our high school had approached her. "So your name's Quinn, huh?" I asked, thinking if I got her to talk a little about herself I would be able to see why she claimed she didn't know any Spanish. Nodding her head, Quinn confirmed her name. "And you don't know any Spanish?" I asked, raising my eyebrow. This time she shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. "No. None. At my old school I was assigned to take Russian, but instead I took advanced English classes." She sounded a little reluctant with her schooling, but at least things made sense: she wasn't shy and she wasn't Brittany, she was new. "Ah I see," I exhaled, leaning forward and setting my hands on the desk. "I guess you need to learn the basic, basics." Quinn smiled and chuckled a little and nodded her head. "Tell you what, how about you borrow your friend's notes and see if you can cram some Español into your head." I smiled at her again and began to stand up, telling her not to worry about the assignment too much and to just do as much as she could. Her smiling face turned into a slight frown, but she nodded her head and headed for the door. "Bye Señora Lopez." She called over her shoulder and I quipped back; "Hasta luego!"

With one class down, all I knew was that I couldn't wait to get home to my beautiful, bush baby eyed, darling Brittany.

* * *

_Quinn Fabray: _

The day had dragged on and on. Just as I guessed the classes weren't that much different from my old school's curriculum, but the only problem was just one thing I'd have to get used to: until a new kid arrived I was stuck being the new kid getting strange looks at being asked constant questions. I had short answers for them all so I appeared as a recluse, boring and not someone to befriend. It worked, until later in the evening when I was in my room doing some research for history class.

My mom's voice suddenly broke me free of my thoughts on the slave trade and I turned around to see her at the door. "Quinn there's someone on the phone for you!" She beamed, proud and pleased I had made a friend. By the look on her face, I could tell it was a girl. I took the phone and stared at it for a moment. "Hello?" I asked into the phone, sounding unsure. I recognized the voice instantly and I felt little butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

"Hey Quinn it's me, Rachel."

"Rachel?" I announced, smiling and checking my mom wasn't waiting outside the door. Not that I would mind too much, I means he was just a girl from school. Not even my friend yet, or ever because I was sticking to my plan. "Er..hi. H..how did you get my number?" I asked, trying to 'play it cool' and not at all stuttery and stupid as I was only used to Kurt calling me. I heard Rachel sigh a little – kind of dramatically – and I smiled once again. "I hope you don't mind, but I was a little sneaky and asked the school's office for it. I pretended you had left some homework behind and needed your number to tell you." I had got off my chair at my desk and was now sat on my bed. "That is sneaky of you." I told her, a little smile playing on my lips, the smile growing when I heard her laugh.

"Well I guess you could say I get it from my mother! Anyway, the real reason I'm calling is because I was wondering if you wanted to hang out this weekend?" This weekend? It was only the first day back at school and someone was already asking me out? _To hang out_! I knew I'd see her at school, but the fact she wanted to hang out with me outside of school was..nice. It was comforting to think that maybe not everyone was obsessed with appearances. The fact she asked the new girl to hang out with her for that weekend was really sweet of her. But having said that, I had to stick to my plan. Two years would be a lot easier alone. "Er I would Rachel, but I can't this weekend. I still have some unpacking to do." She seamed to buy it; somehow remembering that I had told her I had just moved to the area. With that said, she told me that we would have to meet up at some other weekend when I was available. Smiling and nodding my head, I told her that would be better and then we hung up.

As soon as I hung up though, I knew I had made a mistake. I hate to be invisible and alone, otherwise my plan would be ruined. Still, maybe I could just keep her as a 'school friend'. Nothing more but hopefully something less.


	3. Chapter Two: First Weekend

**Mi Vida...Not So Loca**

* * *

**Chapter Two:**

**First Weekend**

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

As a teacher I was living in two different worlds. I was being dominating and scary in school, whilst being completely whipped and flirtatious at home. Even though I had only been working for four and a half days, I couldn't wait to get home and start my weekend with my wife. The kids at school were completely draining. When I was in high school, the first day back was supposed to be an easy transition into relearning stuff. Not at this school. My boss – a creepy, little Indian man named Principle Figgins – wanted us teachers to make the students 'hit the ground running' with the teaching. That meant we had to basically go into the lessons as if we were going into battle. Hence why I was coming home exhausted every night, furthermore why I was so looking forward to a relaxing bubble bath with Brittany Friday night and relaxing with her.

After lunch I had the junior class I had first thing on my first day. As I waited for them to settle down, I was feeling kind of excited and curious as to what they had come up with. Most of them were okay with the basic stuff, however their assignment was to write a minimal of a paragraph about themselves so I could see just how good or bad they were at my first language. Quinn walked in with her brunette friend, Rachel, and sat down. She looked a little nervous, but I couldn't let her get out of not doing the assignment: Santana Lopez does not go easy on anyone, even Brittany. I used to tutor her in high school, not just in Spanish, and I never just gave her the answers. Unlike a lot of teachers, I just found a way to make the learning more fun and understandable for her. What I hated about some of the teachers at our high school was that they didn't want to change the way they taught. They didn't want to face the fact that some kids just learned better with other technique. Brittany was visual and like a little kid she liked to be praised and have a reward. She lacked confident in her learning because of years of teachers and students telling her she was stupid. I never yelled at her. Sure, sometimes I got a little frustrated, but every time she got something right I would show her just how proud I was of her. I would reward her with a cookie and stickers and even just with a hug. To help her learn I would get her to draw a picture or make a graph or we would watch something and the information would just stick.

I guess that was also why I wanted to do this assignment first. It was a way for me to get to know the students on a personal basis (yet still remaining distant of course) so that I could understand just how they worked. This assignment worked with all students, I was sure, especially my freshman classes, and I was looking forward to seeing what these almost graduated teenagers could do. "¡Bueno! Clase," I clapped my hands and stepped in front of the class. I noticed the guys in the class not looking at _me _but at my legs. I couldn't wait until the winter where I could wear wide leg pant suits so I wouldn't be subjected too much by my students. As much as I didn't mind being looked at in such a way when I was in high school and college, I'd been beginning to notice just how off putting it was being leered at so much whilst I tried to teach. "Who wants to go first?" Like I predicted, all the eyes went down and head bowed. Well, everyone except Rachel. She was the only one who was still sat up with her back straight and hands placed neatly on the desk with a big smile on her face. Her hand shot up in the air and I could tell she was just containing herself so she didn't start shouting 'me, pick me'! With a quick roll of my eyes, I smiled at Rachel. "Vale, Rachel why don't you go first on your assignment." The tiny girl practically bounced out her seat and up to the front of the class. "Gracias Señora Lopez," she thanked me and then cleared her throat to begin. "Well, me llamo Rachel Berry y tengo dieciséis años. Mi cumpleaños es el día catorce de diciembre..."

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

Watching Rachel read out her essay about herself, I started to look at her a little more deeply. She of course was extremely confident and very comfortable in herself; she had to be to be the first one to read out her essay. Even though I barely understood any of it, only recognising the English words and name, I really enjoyed listening to her. Not that I had been hearing her talk before. I'd been following her around at school – with her insistence at showing me everything – like a little puppy all week, and I had found out a tremendous amount of information that I didn't even ask for! She loved to talk and the more she did, the more I found out I liked to listen. Specifically listen to her. I'd never listened so much with a girl my own age. At home I of course kept quiet whenever my father was talking and at church I would listen to the pastor, but with someone my own age I knew I was allowed to talk and yet with Rachel I didn't need to. I liked listening to her. With Kurt, we had a fairly equal amount of talking time between us. We were both opinionated and like to voice those opinions. Rachel was the same, however what would normally take me a few sentences to express how I was feeling or what I was thinking, it took Rachel probably three times as long! My little brunette loved to ramble in paragraphs. Her incessant need to talk meant that I was finding it easier to fulfil my role as 'wallflower' and 'invisible girl just wanting to get by'. If I kept hanging out with her, I would be able to survive. By her talking all the time, and me only getting the chance to ask a question or respond with minimal back channelling, I was able to discover my little mission of surviving with minimalist effort was probably going to be easy.

What also made me sure that hanging out with Rachel would mean I wouldn't be bothered more than necessary and be able to survive these two years, was that Rachel wasn't the most popular girl in school. Walking around with her, I noticed just how unpopular she was. A lot the students ignored her, but the popular students too a great amount of time acknowledging her only to make fun of her. There were cheerleaders who, as they passed her, called her 'Treasure trail', 'Man hands' and even 'RuPaul'. I wasn't sure who or what 'RuPaul' was, but I knew it wasn't nice. Whenever Kurt was being picked on, I would storm up to the bullies and call them just as bad names. But with Rachel I couldn't do that. I had to keep my mask on and remain being the quiet girl and blend in. If I made myself known by sticking up for 'the loser' then my plan would not work. As I kept telling myself, I had to stay quiet so I could live my life once I got out of high school. Besides, Rachel didn't actually need my help. The first time she got slushied I was horrified. I expected her to cry or run away back home, but instead she wiped the slush off of her face and made her way to the nearest girls' bathroom to change. I was amazed. The kids at my old school were mean with their words and even got into physical fights, but throwing ice drinks at each other? That was something I did not want to get involved with: yet another reason to keep my head down.

As I listened to her read out her essay, I began to think about my friend situation. Or more accurately, my lack of friends situation. I had never been a girl who wanted to be surrounded by numerous swarms of people. That's why Kurt was perfect. He was an outcast because of his fashion sense and then later on his sexuality. I wasn't an outcast but made myself one by being opinionated and didn't posses the right 'look' for being 'normal'. Even after loosing the weight and the acne I stayed true to myself and kept my fiery personality. Kurt and I were the perfect duo: we would make our views and opinions known with sassy remarks and sarcastic comments. I guess being here meant that I was going to finally be a real me: no sass and no sarcasm, just being quiet and nice and waiting for the time to come where I could truly be everything I wanted to be.

Having said all that, that I need to stay as a much of a loner and a recluse as possible until I was free from my chains, maybe I could befriend her. It would be nice to not only have Sam to hang out with. If I was going to survive these two years I realised I would need at least two people my own age to talk to. My parents were fine, but very uptight and stuffy. I could never talk to my mom about personal things. I never have. I always went to Kurt to talk about stuff. We would hang out in our rooms and talk about absolutely everything. I don't want to be typical and say it was because he was gay and I was a closeted tomboy, but the fact he could talk about girl stuff and I could talk about guy stuff and still be comfortable with each other, our friendship just worked. Making friends here was the tough part because I had figured all I would ever need or want was Kurt. He was the perfect friend. Sam was nice and I guess good looking, but I didn't want a boyfriend. Maybe a boy who was a friend but not a _boyfriend_ because..well just because I wanted to wait until I was my own, independent person before I got into all that stuff. Rachel on the other hand was someone I could see spending a lot of time with. My mom would like it because she's a girl and she was always nagging me to have more girlfriends and my dad would like it too because then he wouldn't have to bite his tongue. He didn't like gay people and he didn't like me to hang out with boys because he was convinced that just having boys even look at me was going to get me pregnant. As far as my dad was concerned, I wasn't going to get pregnant any time soon – even though there were tonnes of boys at school who I just knew wanted to be my first.

And not just my first as in _first time _but first _everything_; first date, first kiss as well as first _time_.

Wearing baby doll dresses and make up and basically looking like every boy's dream meant that I was catching a lot of unwanted attention. My first day of school consisted of several wolf whistles, leers and suggestive comments made my way. Obviously not just because of me being the new girl, but because apparently I looked 'innocently sexy' according to one guy with a Mohawk and his giant, goofy friend. If I continued to dress like that – how my mother wanted me to look – then maybe my dad would have a few problems with guys wanting to date me. Maybe not necessarily impregnate me, but definitely date me. Of course if I dressed how I wanted to dress (and how I was going to dress one I was 'free') I might still get attention from guys; Kurt told me I was naturally beautiful and so it was a given I was going to have numerous suitors. One guy in particular, who was unfortunately in almost all of my classes, were rather persistent. It wasn't just me he hit on – even trying to hit on Senora Lopez – but apparently every girl was hit to 'play with'.

At the table in the cafeteria on my first lunch at school, Rachel had rolled her eyes when I mentioned the Mohawk modelling boy and told me all about him. "His name's Noah Puckerman, however only my mom and I call him that."

"What does everyone else call him?" I asked, smirking a little at how he was trying to make himself appear 'irresistible' and 'mysterious' by not allowing people to use his given name. With an air of distaste and a heavy sigh, Rachel told me. "Puck. It's a silly name because he has no idea that the name is usually associated Puck the fairy in William Shakespeare's 'Midsummer Nights Dream'."

"That is stupid." I mumbled, taking a bite of my sandwich.

"Unfortunately that is not his only nickname he likes to associate himself with. He calls himself 'Puckasaurus' and 'Puckzillar' amongst a lot more crude and disgusting names I hope you forgive me for not telling you about." She shivered and took a sip of her apple juice. I chuckled a little and asked her to continue. "Not at all. So I guess he's a bit of a Casanova?"

"More like Don Juan. He really doesn't mind too much what kind of girl he will make out with. Similarly to Señor Juan, or Don Giovanni if you prefer the Italian version of events, he will date women of any age, profession, cultural background – much to the dislike of his mother and grandmother. He likes to refer to females as his 'buffet of dessert' and he can 'pick and chose' whoever he wants."

"What a pig."

"Ironic that's he's Jewish like me."

"Seriously? You're Jewish?" I should have picked it up, considering some of the phrases she slipped into her paragraphs were a little odd and 'typically Jewish. But now that she had confirmed it, I didn't need to guess so much. Still, it was a little downer.

As well as gay people and immigrants, my dad tried to not make too many friends with Jewish people. Typically he praised them at how great they were at business, but because of the whole 'Jesus was inadvertently killed by the Jews' thing he tried to keep them purely as colleagues and not friends. Still, watching Rachel with her presentation, I was starting to think I wouldn't mind having her as a friend. Not only my first friend in this place, but my first ever Jewish friend. As long as I made sure she didn't appear 'too Jewish' around my parents – my dad especially – then I think I would be okay. It would certainly make my mom happy. Sam on the other hand was a whole other story. This weekend, as well as once again rearranging my books and DVDs in my room, he was going to take me out. Even though I was standing by yet another mantra of mine to not have a boyfriend during high school, I guess it wouldn't hurt to spend time with him. If I was going to sacrifice my loner plan to be friends with Rachel then, why not?

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

"...Y finalmente, quiero hacer mi pequeña hermana orgullosa de mí y que ella siga sus propios sueños." Rachel finished up with a little curtsey whilst the class not even halfheartedly clapped at her for her effort – everyone accept for Quinn. As she made her way back to her seat (a mere ten inches away) I nodded my head and clapped, thinking that I was actually impressed this girl new some stuff. Sure some of her tenses were mixed up and she hadn't quite used the correct verbs, but her essay was pretty good. Clearly she was one of the only students who not only took notes, but did studying to improve her learning. She also used a pretty good Spanish accent; clearly an actress, as she had stated that was what she wanted to be in her essay.

I made my way to the front of the class and stared the rest of the students down. "Who wants to go next?" In a language they all could understand, I asked, thinking that after Rachel's essay they may want a very, very quick break from the beautiful language that was Español. As I predicted, no one wanted to have a go. I sighed and gave them a few more nanoseconds to volunteer, and when my eyes landed on Noah – or Puck as he insisted to be called – I rolled my eyes and motioned my finger at him in a 'come here' gesture. "Puckerman you're up." He bared his teeth at me in what was supposed to be a 'sexy grin' but actually he just reminded me of a shark. It was creepy and off putting. I didn't think he had a crush on me, but I just think he liked to flirt with everyone – including his married, _lesbian,_ Spanish teacher. Still, I gave the boy credit for trying. It's not like he knew he wasn't my type.

As he passed me he winked once again and sauntered up to the front with his notebook. He stuck one hand in his pocket as he posed like he was an underwear model. He pursed his lips and stared at the class with a glazed look in his eye. Like an arrogant politician he cleared his throat and began to talk. "Mi nombre es Puck y soy sexy, erótico y sexual." Having heard that this was his opening sentence, I rolled my eyes and was prepared to stop him from reading any more. The class were enjoying themselves, everyone except Quinn and Rachel who just huffed at him, rolled their eyes and crossed their arms. For the rest of Puck's essay and felt myself getting more and more irritated. The whole class were laughing and whooping at his words, but I had had enough and called it short by the time he began listing his 'hobbies' and 'accomplishments'. By the time the rest of the students had read out their essays it was the end of the class. Again, I watched as the students practically ran out of the classroom as fast as they could to catch up with their friends before their next class started, but again I watched as Quinn and Rachel took their time packing away their belongings. Not in a creepy kind of way, but more of an observation, I watched the way Rachel would hand Quinn her things and the blonde would thank her with a small smile and soft look in her eyes. When Quinn lifted Rachel's backpack onto her back and helped her adjust it slightly as she could see how heavy it was, I could see a light tinge of a blush form of Rachel's cheeks.

They left waving their goodbyes and cheerful "Hasta luego" and I hummed my suspicions. Sure they were probably just good friends, possibly best friends but looking back on my own experience, I would put money on the two of them possibly being a little more than that. Or maybe that was just the romance of Brittany rubbing off on me. Speaking of Brittany, I suddenly felt myself shiver at the thought of being able to spend all morning snuggled up with her. I looking forward to it so much, a smile was making its way across my face just thinking about her and I had a feeling for my last few classes of the day, I wouldn't be concentrating as much.

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

As much as I liked the learning side of school, the social side of it was exhausting. I never thought giving nods, hums and shrugs and keeping eye contact minimal was such a hard task. Being the new girl – as I expected – everyone wanted to know stuff about me. As far as I was aware the only people I wanted to share my life with were Sam and Rachel, and the latter was the one I wanted to share a little more of. Even though it was pretty obvious Sam wanted to be my boyfriend, it was even more obvious Rachel had something else in mind she wanted me to be. As well as talking about Broadway and school, Rachel loved to talk about the school's show choir club, run by another Spanish teacher; Mr Schuester. She was desperate for me to join and as many times as I told her I didn't sing, she still persisted, telling me that I didn't have to sing much and that if I preferred dancing I could do that more. I had accidentally let on that I liked to dance. I had done tap, ballet and jazz as a little girl and gymnastics for the past few years. I'd done more athletic sports in the last few years like swimming and running. Since telling Rachel I danced, she was really raining home on the 'please join Glee Club' begging. Still, sticking to my plan, the only sports I would be taking part in would be running at the weekends and doing yoga.

On the one hand I was glad the weekend had arrived. It was a mixture of gladness because at least it would be like summer vacation again, and a break from school but I was apprehensive because Sam was 'taking me out' Saturday evening. Even though we had church in the morning he was still insisting on taking me to the restaurant everyone in my school went to for their dates. It was called 'Breaadstix' and according to Sam they had the best bread sticks in the world. When I asked him had he really tried every other bread stick in the world, he thankfully laughed and just shrugged saying it was what they said on the menu. To be called after the stale bread snack I was hoping their bread sticks were going to be good. Rachel had told me that she, her mom and her little sister had traditional Friday night dinners but if I needed any help with my Spanish homework to just text or call he. Leaving school I promised I would if I needed to and we parted our ways.

Friday night at my own house was the usual formal affair; dad sitting at the head of the table with my mom either side of him and listening to him talk about his day at the office. How he had to fire some 'buffoon' for messing up some important meeting. Pretty soon however – sooner than I thought – the attention was put on me. My dad sliced his meat up and then looked at me; "So Quinn," his voice somehow boomed around our dinning room and my stomach dropped with what he was about to say. "I hear that young Samuel is going to take you out on a date tomorrow night. I trust you won't be out too late so that you won't be sleepy during church?" Of course I knew he would be more interested in me still going to church and not using the 'date' as an excuse. Trying to keep my eye rolling to a minimal, I nodded my head and sliced a carrot in half. "Of course daddy, and it's not a date. It's just two friends going out somewhere." My mom wasn't convinced and she chuckled opposite me. "Quinnie, of course it's a date! Why else would a boy want to spend time with a girl?" With my mother I could roll my eyes at. I sighed and set my cutlery down to give her my full attention. I knew that what I was about to say was going to set an uncomfortable conversation off, but at the moment I didn't really care. It was the end of the week and I had been mostly silent for all it. I wanted a discussion with my parents, just to see how far I could push them, about this particular topic.

"Kurt and I used to hang out all the time and we certainly weren't dating." At the mention of my best friend, my dad instantly tensed and put his own cutlery down too. "Quinn," his voice was stern and his eyes were boring into mine. Just the reaction I wanted. Internally smirking, I watched him as he continued, trying to cut the pending conversation short and move on to a more 'Christian' topic. "You know perfectly well why.." I could see he wanted to say 'we allowed you to hang out with him' but he wasn't going to. Instead he cleared his throat and tried again. "Kurt is the exception in this aspect. You two 'hung out' together because...well he had no ulterior motives." His eyes shifted to his wife so she could try and explain 'better'. From where I was, it was funny trying to watch the two of them not mention the fact Kurt was gay and that's why it was semi-okay for us to be friends and hang out together. Although I'm pretty sure if he was a gay _girl _they would have had a very different reaction. "Quinnie what your father is trying to say, is that you and Kurt were able to hang out because he was more like a girl than a boy."

"That's certainly one way to put it," my dad mumbled, putting a fork full of mashed potato into his mouth. My mom looked over at him, slyly sliding her eyes over to where he was and then refocused back onto me. "Quinn, no normal boy would want to hang out with a girl unless it was for a date. That's what your father and I are trying to say."

The fact that my mom had actually replaced the word 'normal' with the '_ungodly_' word 'gay' made my blood actually boil. I know that the two of them don't like gay people and I know that they were just following the 'word of God' but to actually call someone who was gay not normal or refer to someone who wasn't gay normal made me want to snap the metal cutlery in half, stand up and tip the table over. Instead, being a Fabray, I simply had to use my words as my ammunition. But before I could think of something clever to follow up with her 'argument', my mouth took over my brain and just announced in a laughable scoff; "Did you seriously just say that?" I had used a tone that I had never used with my parents. It was a tone I had only ever used against the bullies at my old school, and it was a tone that was not appreciated by my parents. Their knives and forks actually fell out of their hands and hit the plates with a smashing crack. I knew I was going to be in trouble but this topic was really dear to my heart. For Kurt's sake. He was gay and a good guy. No one should be judged just by who they fall in love with. What about all the murderers and pedophiles and terrorists and other bad people in the world. They somehow got classed as 'normal' if they were straight and my best friend was being put into a category that years ago would have been kept for people with physical and mental disabilities as well as their colour and all other socially unacceptable crap.

Looking at me with eyes that were even more stern than before, my father gave me a warning. "Do not speak to either your mother or I in that kind of tone again, do you understand that young lady?" Of course I understood him, but I was almost an adult and there were discussions I wanted to have and so I was going to – this once and for the first time in my life – disobey my father. I nodded my head and told him; "Yes daddy I understand, but I will ask both of you to please understand that I don't like it when the two of you refer to gay people, especially my best friend as not being normal simply because of his sexual orientation." At my request, my dad slammed his fist on the table. The sound echoed around the room and I could have sworn it was heard down through the large house and down the street. Now instead of just having stern eyes that were trying to ingrain a warning into me, but the vein on his forehead was popping out slightly as well as the one on his neck and his face was slowly turning red. "You will respect me and my wife, as your father and mother, enough to understand that being a homosexual is a sin and will not be tolerated. The only reason I allowed you to even be friends with that boy was because he was the only one I was sure wasn't going to taint you by taking your innocence away."

When I was a little girl, it was good that my daddy was always so overbearing and protective. Every little girl knew that their daddy was the most important man in their lives and the only one they would ever need. However now that I was older I realized just how annoying it was and not only annoying but how soul destroying it was. Yes my dad was a Christian and not just one of those Christians that believed in Jesus because it meant at Christmas they got to have presents and at Easter meant they got to gorge out on chocolate. He was a deeply religious man, having been raised by a man with an iron fist and a bible in the other. What was important to my dad was that his children, his two daughters, would be pure and righteous. I was to stay a virgin – like my sister – until my wedding night. I was to go to church every Sunday and follow the word of God. Like him and my mom. Some of his views were okay and understandable. I guess being a virgin until marriage was a good thing. It was special and something that only a couple in love should share, and I suppose you were only really in love if you got married. But then again, some of his views were kind of backward. I had read my bible several times and I knew – as a teenager from the twenty first century – not to take the bible so literally. As a teenager from this century, I had thoughts and views that the people during biblical times would not like or understand. I just wish there was somewhere I could express them. Clearly my home was not the place and definitely not in church. The school held the same views as my dad so that was a negative too. That's why it was great having Kurt. We could discuss stuff like this and it was awesome. He didn't believe in God, one of his reasons being 'why did he make him gay and then make a rule saying it wasn't allowed'. In that respect, I agreed. It wasn't fair but living with my parents, there was no way I could bring that up.

Until tonight.

Before I could broach the gay subject again, I had another question for my father. Showing that after this conversation was over and that I was done, I placed my knife and fork together and rested my hands on my lap. "So, daddy, if I were to date Sam would you approve?" Blinking as if in shock he then nodded his head and answered me. "Of course I would. He may be dyslexic but he's a smart boy and his father is the pastor of our church. I would approve wholeheartedly." I knew he would say that. As a man it would be Sam's job to bring in the income, however, I could tell that my father was sort of hoping Sam would follow in his footsteps. Having not had many conversations with Sam – at all – I didn't know if he would or not, but judging by how many sports he played and how bored he looked during some of the sermons, I doubted it. "What if Sam and I were to engage in a sexual relationship before marriage, would you approve then?" Again, it was almost comical how wide my father's eyes went. As for my mother, I heard her gasp and out of the corner of my eye I saw her wipe her brow with embarrassment. This further told me that I would need Rachel as a friend; there was no way I was going to her for sexual advice.

This question blew my father a little. At first he wasn't sure how to answer it. If it was any other boy – Puck for instance – he would outright say no, absolutely not and probably secure the chastity belt on me himself. But because it was Sam, the pastor's son, he wasn't sure. By looking into his eyes I could see the cogs in his head were turning, trying to process his answer. Finally after what felt like forty years of walking aimlessly through the desert, my father had his answer. Again, he cleared his throat and looked at me. "Quinn you know my beliefs of the matter of sexual relations," meaning absolutely not until you have a wedding ring on your finger, "But I think..maybe.." I could see that this was conflicting him. Was he really going to give me permission to sleep with Sam – give him my virginity – just because he was the pastor's son? However before he could say yes or no, my mom jumped in. Almost squealing; "Absolutely not! Quinn you will stay a virgin even if Jesus himself came and asked you for your virginity." I guess that matter was settled. I had a feeling my father was going to say yes and allow me to sleep with Sam, but the fact that my mom had said no – and even brought Jesus into the matter – it was settled: no sex until marriage. Now I was left to my next topic, or more the original topic of the night.

Taking a sip of water, I prepared myself for shouting, screaming and maybe even a smashed glass. I knew that what I was about to ask would probably get me grounded and maybe even have me being sent to the pastor and his wife for some 'bible counseling sessions' – ugh how embarrassing – but it had to be asked. For some reason it had been on my mind for a long time. Ever since Kurt came out to me, I just had to know. "Mom, dad," I began rather timidly, which I didn't like so I cleared my throat, "What would you do if I..." I took a deep breath and could feel every part of me sweating. Even though I wasn't, no way, I still felt really nervous about asking, just to see and hear their reaction. "What would you do if I came out." My mom's face instantly paled, but my father's didn't change. I decided to just say it, considering it looked like he didn't know what I was talking about. "What if I came to you one day and said I was a lesbian," again I heard my mother gasp this time even more shocked and outraged. My dad's face changed but I still wanted to push. Call me stupid or call me rebellious, I just had to push. I had to know. "What if I not only came to you both and said I was a lesbian, but I was madly in love with another girl?" Now my dad had suddenly turned as red as my car, and a part of my brain was telling me to shut up. Yes, with stupidity mixed in with a hint of curiosity, I still had to push. "What if I not only came to you saying I was a lesbian, that I was in love with another girl, that I wanted to marry that girl," my mom was practically having a heart attack but my dad still hadn't made verbal move yet so I carried on, "and that I wanted to have sex with that girl." That did it. I knew it would. Like a bomb, I knew there was only a matter of time until I had pushed him so far over the edge that he wouldn't be able to handle it any more.

Like before, he slammed his fist down onto the table and promptly silenced me. Instead of yelling he was taking some deep, supposedly calming breaths and tried to compose himself. He turned to me again and then asked in a steadily cool voice; "Are you?" His question surprised me. I was expecting him to go wild; shout and curse and quote the bible and throw things. Instead he was asking me if what I was saying was true. This wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to know what he would think in a hypothetical situation. In one way I wanted to say yes to see if I would get an honest answer. But if I said yes, what would that mean? If he went mad and threatened to kill me then I could always just say I was lying. Which I would be. But if I said no, then he would just dismiss the questions and I wouldn't know. Instead of not giving a yes or a no answer I chose with going for the truth. "Daddy I just wanted to know what you would think hypothetically." His eyebrows narrowed at my answer. Clearly he was unsure of what I was saying now. "So you're not?" The fact he couldn't even say the word 'lesbian' or even quote me, gave me my answer that he wouldn't approve. Sighing I just shook my head and looked down at my lap. "No daddy, I'm not." Listening to his sigh of relief and the laughing sigh from my mom, I knew I would need to approach the subject in a completely different way. My mom went into discussing with my father about my 'date' with Sam. There was no point in me saying yet again it wasn't a date, because my mother's words had sunk into my brain and I was now believing them: was it a date and if it was, how did I really feel about that?

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

Apparently it was a tradition at Mickinley High School to hold a staff meeting at the end of the first week back to see how the students were doing. Personally, I thought it was stupid. There was no way any information we would give about them would be beneficial. We had just come back from summer vacation! Most if not all of them were still sleeping and not paying any attention. Still, we had our meeting and I was home later than I wanted to be. Closing the door behind me, I called out in a way that I had always wanted to since being married to Brittany; "Honey I'm home!" It was so cheesy and cliche, but that was just yet one more thing that Brittany brought out of me. On the way home I had stopped by this small little yet kind of expensive florist. I had seen it when I had somehow taken a wrong turn and stopped to buy Brittany some flowers. This past week she had been a house wife and starting the next week she would be teaching a small ballet class of three year olds. I figured, being the good wife I am, buying her some nice flowers would be a nice treat for her (as well as having a nice, hot, relaxing bubble bath together).

Walking into our living room after hanging up my jacket and putting my book bag down on the floor, I wondered where Brittany was. The living was empty. The television was off and there were plates or cups on the coffee table. For a split second I thought I had somehow walked into the wrong house. But then I saw the fat lump Lord Tubbington plodding into the living room from the kitchen. I could see the meaty/fishy cat food around his mouth and so I could tell what he had been doing for the past however long. It was late so I knew Brittany had to be in, so after checking the silent kitchen and dining room and the back yard, I figured the only other place she would be was upstairs in our bedroom. Kicking off my high heeled shoes off at the foot of the stairs I made my way up to our bedroom. Before I even walked in, I knew that Brittany had been busy and I suddenly felt my stomach flutter with excitement.

Taking a quite breath I pushed down on the handle and walked in. Our bedroom was dark; the curtains pulled to and the only light in the room was the carefully placed flickering candles on the bedside table and dressing table. There was soft music playing around the room and a lavender scent was filling the room. Whether it was the slow dancing flames from the candles or the lavender aroma or just the general sweet romance of it all, my eyes were watering. I wasn't crying, but they were definitely watering. I loved the fact Brittany had gone to so much trouble for making our first weekend together as teachers special. The bouquet of flowers I was still holding suddenly didn't feel so special anymore. Still, hearing the telltale signs of the water running in the en suit bathroom, I put them down on the chair where we usually put Lord Tubbington to sleep on when it was too hot for him to be on our bed, and made may way inside.

To say my breath was taken away would be another understatement. The music was slightly louder in here, but I was completely deaf to it. The room was slightly brighter than the bedroom but there were more candles in here and they only accentuated Brittany's beauty. Brittany was sat in the bathtub with her hair tied up in a loose bun with her leg up and bent at the knee and bubbles floating on the top of the hot water. Her cheeks were red from the steam and the water and her eyes were shining brightly. Before I had a chance to exhale, my wife licked her lip and called to me in a sultry voice; "Welcome home baby." I swallowed and smirked at her as I approached the tub My hips swayed slightly and as much as I wanted to say it was because I was trying to be sexy, it was really because I was just so excited to get in the already prepared tub with my amazing wife. I stood at the tub and watched her rub her hand up and down her knee and shin. "Are you just going to stand there or are you going to join me in here?" She asked, still keeping that sultry tone. When we were teenagers, whenever she tried to be sexy she would giggle and blush. Now that we were nearly in our thirties she had the art of seduction down to a T.

Without needing to be told more than once, I unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor, thankful that I had already taken my shoes off. Then, so Brittany could have a little show too, I undid each of the buttons on my red blouse and shook it off my shoulders allowing it also to fall to the floor in the heap, letting Brittany have a full eyeful of my black bra and panties. She was biting her lip her hand on her leg was now moving a lot slower than before. I took my bra off and saw her hand suddenly stop at her knee and her teeth bite down even more on her lip. As I hooked my thumbs in my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, Brittany suddenly moved. She sat up and her bubbly hands grasped my hips. Her eyes looked up at me and I could see that familiar teenage blush form on her cheeks. Like master to their obedient dog I wanted to pet Brittany's head but again before I could make any sort of movement, Brittany was pressing her lips just below my bellybutton. With the combination of her dry lips and her wet hands on my skin, I felt myself moan out quietly. I was fighting my urges to close my eyes. Watching Brittany my stomach was not only making me feel gooey with love, but also incredibly appreciated considering she knew my touch past. Without even realizing it, Brittany was hooking her own fingers into my panties and pulling them down my legs.

Soon enough I was sitting in the tub with my wife and was having the most relaxing evening either of us had had in a long time. Normally I prefer it if I was the one leaning against the porcelain of the tub and having Brittany resting against my front, however as it was Brittany's night, I didn't protest. Although it felt sort of odd having Brittany hold me, it did feel nice having her arms around me as the water sloshed around us. We didn't say anything for a while, simply content with just being with each other in our tub. I loved the feel of her chest rise and fall against my back in a smooth feeling and I'm sure she loved the feeling of my flat stomach balloon and then deflate against her hands. Even under the water I could see the diamond of her wedding ring. Just feeling her against me and seeing her diamond, I knew that I really had made the right choice by asking her to marry me.

Hearing her moan softly behind me I smiled and reached behind me to caress her cheek. I leaned my head back on her shoulder and look up at her. She moved her head to look down at me and she smiled with the softest smile I had ever seen on her. "You're so beautiful Brittany," I whispered to her. The blush on her cheeks grew a little more intense and she pressed her lips to mine. As her lips brushed against mine, I continued to stroke my fingers against the skin of her cheek and carefully dragged my fingers down to her neck to deepen the kiss. I ran my tongue along her lips and melted at the sound of her moaning once again. I would never get tired of the sounds she made; whether it was her laugh, her singing voice or her sweet pleasure induced moans, I never wanted to stop seeing and hearing her.

After our little make out session, I motioned for her to turn around so I could wash her. Brittany would claim it was maternal instincts coming out and that I had to take care of her health and well being. In one way, I guess it was, but mostly it was because I loved touching her. As I ran my hands over her back and giving her a little massage I began to ask her about how she was feeling with the prospect of starting a new job. Brittany had only ever worked with adults before so teaching young children how to dance was going to be new. She was going to be amazing at it but was completely different to teaching adults how to dance or perfecting moves with people your own age. She shrugged under my hands and played with her ring as she spoke. "I'm looking forward to it. The first class isn't big, only about ten kids, so it it'll be a good way for me to start." I nodded my head as I listened to her. Even though I didn't want to talk about kids too much, but considering she was going to be talking about them for a long time due to her new job, I had to get used to it. "I can't wait to see their little faces light up when they learn new steps or make new friends. It's going to be super awesome!" Even though she was facing away from me I knew she was grinning like there was no tomorrow. "You're going to be a super awesome teacher Britt," I told her pressing a light kiss to her incredibly clean shoulder. Shivering a little, Brittany moved back round again so she faced me. Running her hands up and down my arms she leaned in and whispered back, "You too Santana." And we kissed once again.

We didn't spend too long in the tub, knowing that the candles and the lavender in our bedroom wanted to be appreciated too. Wrapped in our towels we made our way to our bedroom and we made each other feel special. We knew that over the next year we were going to be busy; sorting the house, sorting out Brittany's dance studio, both working jobs, and having important conversations about our lives together, but for this one night none of that mattered as we just made love to each other. Like we were teenagers again.

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

I had expected my day to be pretty uneventful. It had been a long week and considering it was only the first week back I had a lot of homework to do. Plus I wanted to rearrange my stuff in my room. I guess every house I was ever going to live in was always going to feel weird. Nothing ever feels right once you leave your familiarity and your 'comfort zone'. Even though I had been living in this bedroom for two months it still didn't feel right and I was thinking that it still wouldn't feel like My Room by the time I went off to college. Still, I had to make it work. I was going to be living in this room until the end of my senior year and I had to make it mine as much as possible. I was trying to get all the things I had planned to do before five thirty so I could get ready by the time Sam came to pick me up for our maybe date.

All night I had been thinking about it and I couldn't help but wonder if what my mom was really saying was true: was mine and Sam's friendship ever going to be just that, a friendship? Were all guys really just wanting relationships with girls? Sam was a nice guy but after knowing him for two months, I still wasn't feeling that spark that everyone talks about. Surely a guy and a girl who had known each other for two months would have felt something for each other and that 'something' would be something like a crush. Maybe Sam had a crush on me, but did I have a crush on him? No. Not really. Had I had any crushes on guys before? Maybe. Even with my extensive romantic novel reading, I had never really felt my heart pump wildly or my palms go all sweaty for guys. I would always claim it was because I was too mature for the guys I was supposed to like and was simply just waiting for the 'right guy'. So was Sam meant to be the right guy? If this was a date then I guess I could see if my feelings towards him changed from being just a friend to a possible crush.

Breakfast had been a little tense, as I expected it to be. I had done my running around the track and was feeling refreshed and ready for the day. However as soon as I sat down across the dining table from my mom with my bowl of oatmeal, I suddenly didn't feel so ready. Where my dad's face was hidden by the newspaper, hers was fully on display. She was slightly scowling at me, clearing not liking the conversation I had brought up the previous night at dinner. Like Medusa, I tried to avoid her eyes, but like a car accident on the side of the road I just couldn't take my own eyes off of hers. To break the ice – and the harsh staring – I thought I would bring up a topic I hoped she would like. "So I think I've made a friend," I announced, taking a small bite of my oatmeal knowing I would need to speak again soon. My mother still didn't relax completely, but her eyes did soften slightly. "Really?" She asked, slightly intrigued, "And is this proposed friend a male or a female?" I knew she would like this next piece of information, so being the 'rebellious' teenager I was, I made her wait for my reply whilst I at another spoonful of my breakfast. "A female." I told her with a slight smile on my lips. My father then put his newspaper down and looked at me. My father was a strange man. Where on the one hand he didn't want me having any male friends because he was afraid I would end up having premarital sex with them, he still didn't look too thrilled with the idea of me having a female friend. He was perfectly okay with Sam being my friend, and even being my boyfriend. He sort of didn't mind too much that Kurt was my friend, purely because he knew we wouldn't have sex. Now I was unsure of what he was so concerned about.

However my queries were answered when he spoke up, and I soon realized it was because of the topic I was discussing last night. "Is this female friend a homosexual?" I almost choked on my oatmeal when he asked me. My mother also spat out her coffee at hearing her husband bring up such a topic at this time of the morning (or at any time at all). I laughed at little as I should have known that would have been his main concern. Shaking my head I put him out of his misery; "No daddy, she's not a lesbian." He deflated with relief and then went back to his newspaper. I knew this wasn't the right time, but perhaps next Friday night over dinner I could push the boundaries once again with telling them that Rachel was actually Jewish. Luckily for me, my mom gave a more expected question and asked me what her name was. "Rachel," I told her, liking the way her name sounded on my tongue. "Her name's Rachel Berry." A smile appeared on my mom's face and I knew I was back on good grounds. With my mom at least.

Hearing my new possible friend's name, my dad decided to rejoin the conversation. His eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Berry you say?" He asked, not recognizing the name. I don't know why he was so concerned with not the knowing the name. We had only lived here for a short amount of time. There was no way he was going to be able to know every single person in this small town right away. I rolled my eyes at him and smiled at him and with a slight giggle in my voice I told him; "Yes daddy, you heard correctly. Her forename is Rachel and her surname is Berry." I chuckled at his perplexed expression and then went back to eating my oatmeal. "I'll have to ask around about her." Frowning slightly I looked back to my dad. I asked him why he would need to 'ask around about her' and wasn't completely surprised by his response. "I need to make sure she's good enough to be your friend." Again I rolled my eyes at him and ate the rest of my breakfast in silence. I just hoped he didn't ask around too much so that he found out about Rachel's religion and banned her from the house. Sipping my orange juice I wondered what would be worse: Rachel being a lesbian or Rachel being Jewish?

My surprise of the day came when I was rearranging for the millionth time where I wanted my desk to go. It was heavy and so I had removed all the books, DVDs, trophies and everything else that was on my book shelf off said furniture and onto my bed – making sure my stuffed lamb wasn't squished in the process. Right now I was stood on my mountain of books and films staring hard at my desk. Being the English enthusiast I was created to be, I had an old Victorian school style teacher's antique desk. It even had an ink well. It was present from my dad when I was thirteen and I loved it. I loved that it wasn't clean and brand new. I loved the slightly musty smell it had and the almost invisible dark patch where the dreaded cane must have once sat. I loved sitting at it and doing my work and reading, but now I just had to figure out where I should put it. For the past two months it had just been sitting across a wall of my room and I was wondering where it should go. Just as I was about to make a decision, there was a gentle knock on my door.

Puzzled as to who it was, I called out to them that they could come it. I thought it was Sam, but then thought that even though my dad had more or less given me the permission to sleep with him, I wasn't sure he would actually allow him to come up to my room. The real identity of who it was stunned me a little. Standing at my door in an even more adorable sweater than she had on all the days at school was my semi-friend: Rachel Berry.

She smiled at me and waved her surprisingly long fingers at me from the doorway. "Hi," she squeaked, sounding almost like a little girl. Not wanting to appear rude – although really with my wide eyes and slightly dropped jaw I looked more shocked than rude – I shuffled and jumped off my bed landing with a less than gracious thud and walked over to her. "Hi Rachel," not only did I look shocked but I sounded it too. In the alcove of the door she smiled brightly at me. "I remembered you saying you couldn't hang out with me today because you needed to finish sorting your room out," she took a pause to fully scan the chaos that was my 'sorting' and then looked back at me, "And so I thought I would be a good friend and see if I could help you." She beamed again and as gross as it sounds, it was as if she was passing on some sort of infectious virus because as soon as I saw her previous smile enlarge, the corners of my own mouth stretched and soon enough we were both beaming at each other. Knocking myself out of this smiling trans, I then shook my head and allowed her to come into my room adding, "Thanks, I would really appreciate it actually."

Being the talented organizer she was, Rachel had planned almost instantaneously how we were going to sort out my DVDs and books. She asked me first what I preferred to do more; watch a movie or read a book. Telling her I liked to both just as much, she made the choice that one side of my shelves were going to hold books and the other DVDs. She then spent the next half an hour categorizing and sub-categorizing the books and DVDs on my bed whilst I sorted out my trophies and little objects where I wanted them to be around me room. During this deciding where everything should go, I glanced over at Rachel at noticed just how funny she looked when she was concentrating on a task as mundane as this. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her lips were pursed like she was a little kid about to be kissed for the first time, with her tongue poking out of the side. It was positively adorable and it was getting harder not to burst out giggling at her cute face. At one stage, when she had finally sorted everything out into its correct piles, she made a little "Ta da" exclamation that really did make me giggle. She looked over at me and scowled in a mock annoyed way, but then we were both laughing and began putting them all back on the shelves in their new correct position.

During our time of organizing, we had light conversation about school and homework, television shows and music, but then the conversation turned to us getting to know a little more about each other – or more me trying to know a little more about her. I already knew she loved Broadway and wanted to be on that stage singing for the rest of her life, and therefore her favorite music genre was musical soundtracks and songs from Broadway. But I wanted to know about her home life; if anything so I would know the exact same information as my dad. We stood almost side by side – me standing on a chair and Rachel passing the A through to G Classic literature books – and I began asking her questions that I hadn't asked before. Mostly because I was under the pretense that I was going to keep my distance from her. "So Rachel, what do your parents do?" I thought that was a good place to start: always good to ask about the parents first. Besides, my dad wasn't really investigating into Rachel's life herself: it was her mom and dad he was going to be more interested in. I heard Rachel take a little deep breath and I was unsure why, so I just focused on my task of putting all the books in the right order. "Well," she began with a slight sigh, "My daddy is a pediatric surgeon in Columbus and my mom is actually a music teacher over at Carmel High." I was about to say something polite like 'oh cool' but she kept talking. I expected her to, but what she did say next I wasn't expecting. "And my dad works as chemist in the hospital too."

At first I thought she was just repeating herself, calling her father 'dad' and daddy'. But then something clicked in my brain and what she had said just didn't sound right. Pausing my work I looked down at her and saw her lip was being held between her teeth and her large brown eyes were looking at me with a sort of worried look. I stared at her for a moment before smiling at her. "It's cool your dad has two jobs like that. I mean being a surgeon and a chemist-" But before I could continue commenting on how impressive it was that her father was able to do two such difficult and demanding jobs, Rachel interrupted me. "Actually, I have two dads." My eyebrow raised almost involuntarily at her. I didn't understand, but then made an 'oh' noise at her and nodded my head. "You have a step dad," I stated instead of asking because really there was no other way she could have two fathers. My next question was going to be which father was her biological one and which was her step one: the doctor or the chemist. Either way, having either one of those jobs was working in both of our favors. Being in a high profile profession like a doctor or a lawyer or something mathematical was very impressive according to my dad. It didn't matter that Rachel had a step dad, they had high paying and respectful jobs and so it meant that Rachel was more than likely going to be able to be my friend. Her mom was a music teacher, that also wasn't too bad. My dad would say it was good she had a 'hobby' to keep herself busy. Once again however Rachel landed one more bombshell on me: "Actually my fathers are gay."

This little – _actually mega huge, universe shatteringly giganticly enormous –_ admittance was probably going to be the setback I was praying wasn't going to happen. Not sure what to do, I climbed down off the chair I was standing on and walked over to my bed. Before I turned my back I saw Rachel's bottom lip get more and more squished under her teeth. She was worried. She was scared how I was going to react. Not without very good reason to be so. She had no doubt just met my mother and possibly my father if he hadn't gone out somewhere, and had therefore seen just how Christian we were. If that fact had somehow escaped her, the cross I wore around my neck was another big clue. And, like 'all Christians', we believed all homosexuals had to go to hell. Sitting down on my bed I sighed and beckoned her to come to me. I knew she was probably scared to do so, but like the brave little diva I knew she was, she shuffled over any way. Once she sat down I sighed again and looked at her, this time with a soft smile and kind eyes: trying to show her that there was no way I was going to judge her or ask her to leave.

A part of me wanted to take hold of her hand and stroke her hair and tell her that everything was going to be okay; that I wouldn't allow anyone to make fun of her if they didn't already know and that I wasn't going to make things uncomfortable for her. However, the sane part of me outweighed that slight desire, so instead I just smiled. "Care to explain?" I hoped that my light whisper made her see that I wasn't going to be mean and that she would just talk. Luckily, her shoulders deflated and she sighed, telling me the story of her two dads and her mom. It turned out her dads had wanted to have a baby and so they asked Shelby – her mom – to be a surrogate. As it happened, her mom had actually come into hospital asking for advice on where she could find a sperm bank so she could have her own baby, as her biological clock had started ticking a lot faster and a lot louder and she hadn't found the right guy yet. It was by a stroke of luck that she ran into Leroy – her dad – and struck up the conversation. Over the course of time, the three of them became fast friends and eventually agreed to have a baby. Rachel told me that the three of them used to live together and that she had been raised with a mommy, a daddy and a dad and that she couldn't be happier. But then her daddy – Hiram – got a new job and had to be transferred into Columbus a few years ago. The three of them gave Rachel the choice of who she wanted to spend the majority of her time with and she chose her mom because at the end of the day, every girl needs their mommy. She explained that her situation was kind of like having divorced parents, only without the emotional scaring of such an event!

Listening to her explain about her parentage made me really curious. It made me think of Kurt. Although he never talked about having children because why would he, at the end of the day we're still teenagers and don't need to be thinking about that stuff, it made me think that if he did want children one day this would be a really good way of going about it. Sure he could hire a woman to carry his baby and then take it, but that seemed like a little harsh. Looking at Rachel, she turned out really well. In fact she was fantastic. She began to talk about her childhood and all of her family fun activities they would do together. Sometime she would have 'daddy and dad weekends' where she would be a real tomboy/daddy's girl and some weekends she would have 'mommy weekends'. She explained how her birthdays were her favorite because she would be surrounded by not only by two parents but three who actually loved each other and got along. Like a lot of kids with divorced parents there was a lot of tension when it came to 'the other partner' but not in Rachel's case. The fact she was brought up with both fathers and her mother, she got three times of love! (As she like to put it). "And the best part of my upbringing, is that I am completely tolerable to all sorts of love and situations. I don't care one bit about your sexual orientation, gender, color, religion, class...nothing. As long as you're a good person that's all that matters to me. You work hard and you love just as much then why shouldn't you be seen as a good person?" I smiled at her with a proud little grin. "That's exactly what I think." I told her with a quiet almost whispered voice.

For a few minutes we just looked at each other. I was starting to not only like Rachel but really, really like her. I liked that she was smart and beautiful, but also that she was a good person. All this week she had been telling me stuff about her, but none of that stuff really mattered. It was information that was just stuff. Now she had told me something that really mattered. We shared the same beliefs, at least on this one topic, but I wanted to know more about her. In that moment, just staring into her kind, beautiful eyes, I knew wanted to know even more about her. I just wanted to know everything more about her. I wanted to know about her views on politics, the environment and stupid stuff like if aliens were real! I knew she was a vegan, having told me several times, but I wanted to know all of the other important stuff. I wanted to know all about the real stuff about Rachel. I knew that Broadway was her dream but I wanted to know about her life. What really made her tick.

But first, I had a question to ask that was probably going to be really insensitive but I just had to know – for my own sake for when my dad finds out about her family. Before the mood got too comfortable and before Rachel could start asking questions about me, I filled the silence with a drawled out; "So...are you..are you gay too?" I was afraid the beautiful little brunette would roll her eyes, shout at me and want to leave. But instead, she smiled and playfully rolled her eyes. However instead of looking back at me, she kept her eyes down and looked at her hands. Her fingers fumbled a little as she traced the wrinkles on my duvet. As she replied, she too drawled out her answer; "Ah..." She sounded a little unsure and I through the flopped strands of chocolate hair, I could see her cheeks had that adorable tint to them again. My heart stopped. Was she really about to tell me she was a..now I couldn't even say it! Just when I thought I was able to have a friend my parents could have a approved of, it was turning out that I had made yet another gay friend. But then just as I was about to go into a complete panic at the possibility of not having a straight girl friend, she looked up at me. "I think if I were a lesbian my boyfriend wouldn't be too happy." She replied with a slight giggle, shaking her shoulders and shaking her hair. Soon I started laughing too, but really my insides were confusingly conflicted.

At the revelation that not only is Rachel straight but she has a boyfriend, leaves me a little sad. Once she said she had a boyfriend, instead of feeling relief at the thought of my parents accepting her family life and her, I just felt like someone had just pushed me down and buried me under wet sand and concrete. Tears were springing to my eyes and a lump was forming in my throat. It was great. Awesome even. I finally had a friend that my parents could approve of because she was a girl and there was no way she was going to try and have sex with me. So why was I feeling so sick all of a sudden? And, why, when the thought suddenly dawned on me that she wouldn't want to try and kiss or – let alone anything further – did I suddenly allow a single tear to fall over the barrier of my eyelid and slide down my cheek?

Unfortunately for me Rachel noticed and abruptly stopped laughing. "Hey are you okay?" Suddenly I wiped the tear off my cheek and beamed a smile I had been perfecting for years and usually only used it on adults: namely religious associates and my family. "Er yeah I'm fine," I told her, trying to laugh it off, "Too much laughing I guess!" I chuckled again, trying to make it seem like I really was just crying – no, not _crying _just had one tear _accidentally _fall from my eye – because of the laughter. "I actually have a date tonight myself." Why my mouth decided this was my next port of conversation I was going to land in, I have no idea. But Rachel had forgotten about my tear – _single _tear, in fact just a drop of water – and launched into a girlish giggles and squeals. "Oh my God why didn't you tell me!" Rachel is so excited by the sudden knowledge of me going out on a date that she doesn't realize she just said 'God' instead of her usual 'goodness'. It makes me laugh and so, feeling like I have a real friend for the first time, I open up.

Fluttering my eyelashes and going all sappy I tell her everything. "Well, do you know Sam Evens?" The brunette nods her head without even thinks, still beaming her megawatt smile. "Well his parents are super buddies with my parents and so he asked me out." Again Rachel squealed, only this time she began clapping her hands with absolute joy! "He's picking me up and then taking me to this restaurant called 'Breadstix'". Nodding her head, and wearing a very serious face, Rachel told me she knew the restaurant all too well considering that's the only place where Finn took her on dates. She told me not to order the shrimp because one time Finn did and he had terrible food poisoning. "It may not have been the shrimp, as my grandmother always says, 'better to be safe than sorry'. Of course usually when she says that she's referring to female hygeine equipment, if understand what I mean." Blushing at what 'equipment' she was implying I nodded my head and held my hands up into surrender.

Not wanting to talk about Sam and my evening with him – which I was now beginning to refer to as a date for some reason – I decided to change the topic subject away from me and back onto my new friend. "So, I know about your parents and your er..personal life. Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Knowing the conversation had now moved on from me and was back to her, Rachel took her enthuasim down a notch. "Sister," She replied, "Little one year old, Beth." She took her phone out and showed me a picture of the two of them. She was beautiful but looked nothing like Rachel. For starters, she had blonde hair and pale skin. The only resemblance was probably the brown eyes. "My mom was in a relationship for a brief time with a guy from Austria." Rachel informed me, seeing my slightly confused face. Instead of focusing so much on their physical difference, I simply made a different comment to not make the air cloudy. "Beth, that's such a cute name." The diversion worked because Rachel beamed at me again, showing me more pictures of her adorable little sister. "Thanks. Whilst my mom was giving birth some guy was singing it in the waiting room and it kind of stuck. I was so proud that she allowed me to name her, although my mom was a little unsure at first because she was convinced she was going to have a baby called 'Barbara' or 'Elphaba' or something else from Broadway!" She giggled again, and then put her phone back in her pocket one showing me only one album of her sister. "There's a song called 'Beth'?" I asked her, trying to find in my head that particular song name. I couldn't so I let Rachel fill me in. "Yeah by Kiss."

"Who?" I asked, puzzled. Not that I was a huge Broadway fan or musical fan in general, I hadn't heard of a musical called 'Kiss' although it wouldn't surprise me if there was one called that. Rachel looked a little shock by my lack of knowledge. "You don't know who Kiss are?"

"Should I?" Raising my eyebrow – Kurt referred to once as my best asset as a joke – I asked. Shrugging her shoulders Rachel replied, "I don't know, but they were pretty amazing during our parents' day!"

"And here's me thinking you only liked Broadway songs."

"Ah now Broadway songs maybe my favorite genre, but I do like all sorts of music."

"Multidimensional."

"Precisely."

For the next hour or so the two of us talked more but then Rachel got a text from her mom asking if she could look after Beth for a little bit whilst she went to the store. Knowing I had to get ready for my date soon I told Rachel that I would help her next time her mom needed her to look after the baby. Wanting to hear all the details of my date later on, Rachel left the house and I was left being my mom's dress up doll and personal make up Barbie until Sam came to pick me up.

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

At school I had overheard some of the kids talking about taking their girlfriends and boyfriends to a restaurant called 'Breadstix'. It sounded like a mock Godfather Italian place, but I was all for trying new things, so I made a reservation and took Brittany there. Like the gentlewoman I am, I waited at the foot of the stairs for her until she was ready. Apparently the restaurant wasn't too far away from our home so I wasn't too worried about us being late. Although Brittany looked better than fabulous all the time, even when she's all sweaty after doing a work out or puking her guts whilst having the flu, she still liked to take her time to make sure she thought she was beautiful. If I had it my way, we would be going to the restaurant in our sweatpants and college t-shirts. But my Brittany loved to dress up for me. That's why she loved our senior prom so much. She loved spending the weekends leading up to it going to store after store after store just trying on dresses she knew she wasn't going to buy. She was breathtaking then, and as an eighteen year old I didn't think she could get any more beautiful. Fast forward to our wedding day only a year ago and I had to take that statement back.

Watching her walk – no, float – down the aisle I couldn't help but cry. Normally I wouldn't allow my tears to fall, but I didn't want my vision to be blurred. I had to look at her so I freely allowed my tears to fall down my face. She was not only beautiful, but elegant and poised and so, so happy. When I walked down the aisle I was trying to keep myself together by keeping a small smile on my face; like I was a supermodel or something. Not Brittany. Brittany wanted the whole world to see just how not only happy, but excited she was to be getting married. In her silk floor length white gown that hugged her petite waist and her hair decorated with tiny daisies and simple make up, I swear I had never seen anyone look as enchanting. Once again I knew I was the luckiest person alive.

I know she couldn't possibly look as beautiful as she did on that day, as I think it was the magic that really made her look beautiful, but she made a very good effort. She kept her outfit simple with a little orange dress and blue cardigan and red ballet shoes, her hair tied up in a ponytail and wearing only a touch of blusher and lipstick. Like the first time I saw her, she once again too my breath away.

Stepping onto the final step, I took hold of her hand and pressed my lips to her knuckles. "You look stunning Brittany," with a smile I told her sincerely. Even with her blusher on I could tell her cheeks were being tinted and she gave me that little coy look. It was the same look she gave me the first time I took her out on a date. "I will never get bored of that adorable look Britt," I kissed her lips this time and soon enough we were on our first date as teachers.

As soon as we stepped into the restaurant however I was suddenly having doubts. Doubting everything from my outfit – dark blue skinny jeans with knee high boots, a white blouse and black jacket – to even coming out with Brittany. The whole restaurant was filled with students from my school. If I thought we could blend in and I wouldn't be noticed, I was sadly mistaken, as I was probably one of a handful of Latinas in this whole town. Unfortunately for me, none of the others had decided to show up.

We walked in hand in hand and luckily no one gave us any attention, but as soon as we sat down and ordered drinks, Brittany tried to take hold of my hand. When we were teenagers and not ready to come out, we put our hands under a napkin whenever we were eating dinner in public. Yet I didn't think this would work. Up until our meal came, I simply kept our touches not even PG. Every few minutes my eyes would shift around to check no one was looking at us. To my unfortunate luck, Brittany had ordered one of her favorite foods: shrimp.

Usually I didn't have a problem with it, but it was one of her favorites for a reason: she liked to share it. Just as I expected, she picked a piece up and began to eat it seductively; sucking the sauce off the bottom before nibbling at it. I watched her lick her lips and then wink at me. Then she took a piece and moved it towards my face. She wanted me to eat it straight from her hand but I couldn't. I but my had to put my foot down. Still with the shrimp hovering above my face I quietly took hold of her wrist and guided it away. "Britt, I think we should show a little less PDA don't you think?" I told her, hoping she didn't pout too much. She looked a little confused and tried to put the shrimp in my mouth, thinking I was playing. But when I moved her wrist away again, she frowned. "Why?" Not wanting to lie to hurt, but still not wanting to hurt her feelings, I sighed and just spoke honestly and quietly. "Because..well you know this isn't a very 'us' friendly place." Confused at my words, she looked around. "What do you mean? This place is full of couples?" I couldn't help but smile at her. She was always so innocent and naïve that I wanted nothing more than to take her hand and kiss the back of it like I had done at home. But I couldn't. "Oh Britt you're so cute. But I mean..this town isn't very 'same-sex couple' friendly." Her little eyebrows were still a little furrowed, when she had fully understood what I was saying she gasped a little and whispered; "So you wanna hide our relationship?"

"No," I exclaimed, eyes bugging a little. "No God, I would never want to hide you-"

"Then why wont you eat a piece of this shrimp?" She asked, dangling it in front of me again. Feeling like I had just hit her, I shook my head at her. "I would. I would share everything with you, you know that. It's just..it's my boss."

"What about him? Is he here?"

"I don't know but I have to be careful. He's a really big Christian and he might not like it if he knows I'm..I'm with you."

"Santana he can't fire you. That's discrimination." Out of habit, she reached for my hand, but then stopped herself. "I know, I know but..please Britt. It would just make my working life so much easier if we just kept our 'special hugs and kisses' and all the other cute, amazing, wonderful stuff we do just at home."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I mean I don't like it but...I guess for a little while I'll keep my hands off you."

"You're amazing Brittany, thank you so much."

"It's okay. Besides, you can make it up to me later."

"Absolutely baby. Not just tonight but all of tomorrow too."

"Good."

Even though I felt bad about refusing to hold Brittany's hand and taking the shrimp in my mouth from her hand, but I just hoped she understood. I can't have the kids at school knowing I'm a lesbian and not only that, that I'm married to another woman. Sure, I know it is highly unlikely for me to be fired because of my personal life, but I know small towns like this. The parents would have fits if they knew their kids were being taught by a 'dyke'. Plus the kids themselves might be hostile. I'd heard of teachers being verbally and even physically abused by their students because they had been brought up to not tolerate people of the LGBT community. It might have been unlikely that would happen, but I also didn't want students to make fun of me or make any kind of stupid comments.

Above all, I didn't want anything bad to happen to Brittany. She was starting up a new business and I couldn't have people not take her up on that business because of our sexual orientation. I had to keep this part of my life a secret from my work. Which, in all honesty, teachers did anyway. Right?


	4. Chapter Three: First Break Up

**Mi Vida...Not So Loca**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**First Break Up**

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

Since our date about four weeks ago, Brittany and I had barely seen each other. Where my school routine was becoming less hectic because everything was starting to settle down, Brittany's dancing life was sky rocketing. Not only had she been teaching little children their 'Good Toes and Naughty Toes' in tap and ballet class and how to run around in a circle not looking like a bunch of intoxicated baby elephants, but she had really started to work on her studio. My usual routine would be to wake up at six thirty, shower, get dressed, drink a cup of black coffee and kiss Brittany before heading off to work, getting there at a quarter to eight. In the meantime, Brittany would either still be asleep or would wake up purposely just to give me a kiss before she went off to the studio for nine to begin working on it. Even though we would both return home exhausted and sore from our days, we were still happy and proud of each other. I was proud of Brittany for working so hard on making her dream come true and she was so proud of me for so willingly help her make her dream come true by working all day. I would move the planets and the stars for her if it meant she was happy so I was willing to do whatever it took for her to succeed in making her dream a reality.

At some point within the last month, my wife had put a deposit down on an old wrestling gym near to my school and had begun sorting it out. I was impressed with the place when she showed it to me, even if it had been a surprise. The first time I saw it, the whole place was grey and dark and stank of old socks. I wrinkled my nose and held my breath and looked to my amazing wife. Clearly she was blind to the horrible, rotting, mossy décor and had lost her sense of smell and to anyone else she would be crazy. But to me she was outstanding. Somehow she saw passed all that crap and was dragging me along by hand to show me where everything was going to go: where the mirrors were going and along which wall, where the bars would be, the mats would be, which rooms would have hard floor and where the lights would go...I could tell she had fallen in love with the place and that she desperately wanted it. When I asked her how much it was whilst looking up at the ceiling where I was hoping was paint but probably wasn't, I then realised I would have to coax it out of her. Smiling, I turned around and felt my heart began to pound a little. Her head was bowed and her lips were pouting. Her fingers were fiddling with the zip of her hoodie and her feet were doing little bendy things that she did to warm up whenever she was about to dance. That could only mean one thing. Either she was about to spring to life like a phoenix and start dancing around the space like Billy Elliot on crack, or she was about to tell me we couldn't afford it but she wanted it anyway.

Sometimes I really hoped that Brittany didn't want to have a baby soon. If the place was going to be that expensive that she had to hide her face, then I was praying she didn't want to have a baby within the next year. Ever since Brittany had told me that this was the place where she wanted to spend the rest of our lives, I had been thinking (and worrying) of the logistics. It had always been Brittany's dream to be a dancer. She told me once that she was dancing before she could walk – even though that was near impossible. After spending many years being a backup dancer she had realised that she didn't just want to dance for herself, but she wanted to help other people dance. That's where the idea of opening up her own studio came. Not only would she teach people how to dance but she would hold competitions and dance events and just get people as excited about it as she was. But then it was becoming more and more obvious that she not only wanted to dance she wanted to be a mother. She wanted a baby. I had seen how difficult it sometimes was raising a baby and having a job. Either she wanted to wait for a few years before getting down in the messy world of children, or she wanted to do both; have a business and a baby. Sometimes I wasn't sure which was harder; having a baby or having a business. All I knew was I was going to put off having someone call me 'mommy' for as long as possible. Babies were hard work and they were scary and they took up a lot of time and energy. I had only ever wanted Brittany and as petty as it sounded, I never wanted to share the fantastic blonde with anyone else but her. So I was hoping that she would put her energy into the business and the studio.

I walked up to her slowly, as if approaching a baby deer, and cooed at her. "Brittany?" She didn't look at me and even turned her back to me. "Britt Britt?" I tried again, trying to keep the smile off my face. Even though Brittany was actually a few months older than me, I still had to be the adult in this relationship. Brittany was my world, and if we weren't mortals or we had a magic pot at the end of our yard that never ran out of money, then I would be able to give her the world too. But, we were mortals and unfortunately the only pots we had in our yard were flower pots. So I had to be the realistic one. Brittany lived in a beautiful magical world, but it was always my job to take her by the hand and help her cross the street into the real world. "Preciosa?" I cooed once more, and I knew that this time my term of endearment would work. She loved it when I spoke Spanish to her and she loved it even more when I called her a beautiful name in the language of love. Her body slowly turned around and I could see her teeth were clamping down on her bottom lip. Before I melted at the sight of her childlike vulnerability, I softly asked her how much it was.

The cost wasn't so bad. In fact, she had done her own negotiating with the guy who was selling it.

Considering the two story building used to be a wrestling gym, it already had showers and changing rooms, but Brittany needed to update them and make them less manly. The real bulk of the spending was going to be on refurbishment and then hiring. Luckily, my amazing Britt Britt had already sorted that out. With my help of course. The cheerleading squad at my school had some pretty amazing dancers in it and so I convinced the coach – Coach Sylvester, a scary woman to anyone who didn't know how to deal with her – to allow some of her girls to work for Brittany in exchange for college references and sponsorship. I had marched up to her during the lunch hour and sat next to her at her seemingly private table in the teachers' lounge. As per usual she was reading a cheerleading magazine and she didn't put it down when she noticed I had joined her. Will and Emma had warned me about her, but I wasn't scared. In fact, that word wasn't present in my vocabulary and only existed if I had to be scared for or about Brittany. Plus I had dealt with dominating women before, to name but a few my whole family were bossy, sassy and the definitions of dominating. They men in my Latin family tried to match them, but we all knew who wore the badge of power in our households. Well, not mine and Brittany's of course because we were equal in every way, but every other household like my cousins lived in; the men may be the heads of the house but the women were the neck that controlled them. I had crossed my legs and folded my arms and kept my gaze on Coach Sylvester's.

After waiting long enough and tired of being ignored when I could be visiting Brittany down at the site (as it now had become) I cleared my throat and began my propositions. "Coach Sylvester-"

"Sorry I don't speak Taco." She interrupted me without even looking away from her magazine. At the slightly racist comment I raised my eyebrow and swiftly plucked the magazine from her claws and rested it on my lap. Her hands were still held out in front of her and in the position as if she was still reading the magazine. Her eyes were also focused as if she was still reading the words on the pages. I had her attention I was going to be keeping it. Without blinking she moved her head and faced me. "What do you want Jennifer?" She asked with a calm and possibly intimidating tone. But no one intimidated me. Still I was confused once again by her comment. "My name's Santana." The obviously older than twenty nine year old blonde shrugged her shoulders and replied, whilst shaking her head a little, "I don't care Lopez. What do you want?" My lips pursed slightly to try and hide my smirk. "I need to use your Cheerios." Just like the rest of my female relatives – and some of the male ones – I like to get straight to the point. Now it was the coach's turn to raise her eyebrow. Not only did she do so, but she leaned forward and scowled slightly. "What do you want my Cheerios?" I was surprised she didn't just say no. I had expected her to outright say no and insult my hair, something that Will had told me she would do. Having said that, she had already insulted my heritage twice, and besides my hair is awesome.

Not wanting to break away from this little staring contest we had going and not wanting to show myself somehow backing down, I also leaned forward and told her exactly what I wanted. "A new dance studio is opening up in a few months and I need dancers to help the boss teach classes." I took my time in telling what I wanted, purely because I was unsure of what to refer Brittany as. Obviously not my wife, but what? My friend? She was more than my friend, but I couldn't make this seem like a favour. If I made it a personal issue and not a business one, she would probably say no. She would probably say no anyway but it was always best to keep this professional. "So you want to hire my Cheerios to teach little kids how to dance?" Coach Sylvester asked, relaxing her scowl slightly. I kept my face straight and didn't relax my stance or facial expression at all. In fact, I probably made it harder subconsciously. "Not just little kids no, but yes I do want to hire them." I could see that she was going to need a little more of a push. Will had also told me – and I had seen for myself on a few occasions – that Sue liked to ramble a little. I was all prepared to just tune her out, but before she could I knew I had to soften the deal before she could. "If you allow some of your best dancers to be hired, I will make sure they get well written recommendation letters to their respective colleges and I will also make sure you and your Cheerios will get sponsorship via any marketing this dance studio will promote." I could tell by the infinite flicker in her eyes that she was certainly interested.

Once she had thought it over, she leaned back in her chair and smirked. "I like you Lopez." She then stood up and told me to go by her practice that afternoon so I could see for myself which Cheerios would be good enough for the dance classes. As she left – somehow forgetting about her magazine – I pulled out my cell phone and rang Brittany. She answered after a few rings sounding perky and peppy and her enthusiasm made me smile. "Hey Sanny!" I could just see her huge beam and lit up eyes and I had to turn myself away from the other teachers so I wouldn't be caught going all mushy. "Hey yourself beautiful," Now I could just see her blush and practically heard her giggle inside her head. "I have some news for you." I then began to tell her about the Cheerios and the deal I had made with Sue and she squealed loudly and began jumping up and down. She wanted to clap her hands but because her hands were full with her cell phone, e made up for it with squealing. As well as making me smile she made me laugh and I couldn't wait to hold her in my arms when she went to sleep that night. We agreed I would scout out the Cheerios and would then pass on their details so Brittany could give them a real audition later.

My wife was enjoying her job of really building her life I felt kind of bad for feeling a little lonely. She was spending every daylight hour she had either working with little children or bossing fat, greasy men around who were helping her with succeeding her dream. Even though I couldn't be more proud of her showing everyone just how awesome she truly was and that she wasn't as stupid as all those idiotic bullies made her out to be, I was a little lonely in the nights when she would fall asleep before we could cuddle.

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

For weeks Puck had been getting on my nerves. We had just got into October and I was pretty sure I had been hit on by him everything single school day so far. I knew that if I didn't do something I was going to have a whole other month of school days being hit on by him and he probably wouldn't stop there. I had fears that he would follow me home from school one day and then camp outside my window like some creepy horror movie psycho. Every time he thought he was charming me, he would leer at me and then swarm around me and deliver one of his lines, I would politely tell him I wasn't interested and then walk away. He didn't even have a problem that Sam was now openly 'claiming' me as his own. In fact he saw that as more of a challenge. He really was an animal: he'd found the lioness he wanted and was going to stop at nothing until he got me. And it made me want to not only barf, but punch him in the face with spiked knuckles.

After our date, Sam was convinced we were now going out and was more than happy to show everyone. I didn't know that one date meant that we were automatically boyfriend and girlfriend. Usually I thought there was talking and discussion involved as well perhaps another date! To him I guess it only made sense. We had been hanging out a lot and our parents were practically a family, so it was inevitable we were going to be a couple. The first thing I noticed was that he changed his Facebook status: _Sam Evens is now in a relationship with Quinn Fabray_. I didn't even go on Facebook to know, Rachel had texted me: "Congratulations on your Romeo, Juliet!" At first I thought she had gotten the wrong number and texted her so. Reading her reply, I could practically hear her laughter at my naivety. "No silly!" Her reply began, "I'm talking about you and Sam!" My eyes bugged out of my sockets and I logged onto Facebook. Sure enough, there it was; the proof that I was now in a relationship. Maybe I was just being like Rachel and hoping that romance and chivalry was still alive. I guess not. It was now all technology. Nothing was official until it had been posted on Facebook and Twitter right? So, as not to make Sam look silly (even though in my opinion the fact we hadn't even talked about it made him look silly) I changed my status too. _Quinn Fabray is now in a rel__ationship with Sam _Evens. Instantaneously, Sam 'liked' my post and commented on it; "Awesome post! Cant w8 for are next d8 x" he even accompanied his message with a kissing face, although my 'smileys' weren't quite as up to date as his because all I saw was ' :* ' and had no idea what it meant. His comment was nice enough. He was clearly thrilled that we were now 'in a relationship' but it bugged me. Not just because of text talk and misuse of grammar – he's dyslexic – but just the whole idea that now a possible relationship was made a reality. And it wasn't even a private one but was now completely open to the world.

Growing up I really thought relationships were something private and beautiful and sweet, innocent and loving. Rachel agreed with me and told that that was another reason why she loved Broadway so much. Kurt did too and I knew I had to get my friends to meet each other. Their similarities made me think that if only Kurt wasn't gay, then they would be the perfect couple. Reading my books and watching old movies, I guess I had always wanted to be wooed. I wanted romantic love letters and horseback rides to a field with a single willow tree where my love and I would listen to the bees and feed each other strawberries. I wanted someone to come to my window in the dead of night and serenade me on a guitar. Mostly, I wanted my first kiss to be in the rain; a thunderstorm and dripping hair and saturated clothes. My face to be taken in their smooth hands and rest our foreheads together and then, ever so delicately, our lips would join together. Of course none of that ever happened now. Romance was dead and no longer existed. Everything was through misspelt texting and quickies in the backs of cars or at movie theatres. As much as I didn't want to believe it, my first kiss was probably going to be at some party where I would be drunk and during some stupid game of 'Spin the Bottle'. I would try my hardest not to let that happen, but even though I wanted to blend in and be seen as invisible (if ever there were a more contradicting moronic then that was it) I couldn't be made out to be a prude. Sam was going to be my first kiss, that was a given, but was he really going to be my first _everything_?I really hoped not.

At church the next morning he kept smiling at me in this really dreamlike smooching kind of way. I of course smiled back and assumed the faraway look in his eyes was because he was still thinking of our date. It had gone pretty well. He had booked us a table near the back of the restaurant so that no one would see us and we could be 'left alone with our privacy'. Because we had hung out before, neither of us were that nervous about starting a conversation. Mostly Sam's conversation topics started off with him doing an impression of a movie star or a character from a movie. I wasn't bored par say, but a part of me really wished I was at this place with Rachel. Our conversations would be more free flowing and would have much less pauses. I would probably have had a better time. As I sat listening to Sam basically recite the trilogy of 'Lord of the Rings' I began to think of what Rachel was doing and then making a list of questions for her of when we would next see each other. She was probably still looking after her little sister, Beth. She was probably playing peek a boo and feeding her a jar of peaches and maybe singing songs to her and trying to get her to dance. As I thought more of Rachel babysitting her adorable little sister, I began to feel kind of gooey. I knew it couldn't have been the food because I had only ordered a plain bowl of pasta and really nothing could go wrong with pasta. It was then I noticed my cheeks. I could feel them sting a little and my eyes relax. It then I knew that I was wearing that same dreamlike look the girls in romantic movies wore when they were...

Shaking my head I then focused on Sam and laughed at yet another joke he told. Lying in bed that night after Sam dropped me off – kissing my cheek at my door – and thought of Rachel again, questioning that gooey feeling. It must have just been to do with my inner maternal feelings. Rachel was looking after a baby, and maybe my biological clock had started to tick. That must have been it. When thinking of Rachel and Beth, I was clearly just imagining myself looking at the baby and taking care of it. Clearly I was picturing myself as either the older sister of an infant or a mother myself. That was all it was. There was no other explanation. Still this meant that I had to be even more careful. When the time came to me giving myself to someone – after I was married of course – I had to be careful about protection. Even though when I'm married it wouldn't matter, I would still have to think about it. Especially now with Sam being my boyfriend. Another sinking feeling came to me: not only was he going to be my first kiss, he was probably wanting to do more than that. Just because he was the son of the head of our church didn't mean his teenage boy urges and hormones were turned off. Before going to sleep, I made a mental note to have a _real _conversation with Sam about what was going to happen in this relationship. Or more accurately, what was _not _going to happen.

Monday arrived and I knew today Puck was going to hit on me. It was only a matter of time before he made his move. Even though I was no longer 'his to claim' that wouldn't stop him from trying. After all, girls were a challenge for him. Girls were like math problems to geeks or world leaders: he wouldn't stop until he had concurred them all.

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

It was Monday and I already wanted to have the weekend back - even if the weekend meant marking papers and watching Brittany boss people around. There were some times where I loved watching Brittany dressed in her sweats and hard hat directing people where things were going to go and therefore instructing them where to put another plug socket. She was sexy as hell and I just loved watching her in her element – even if I always thought her element was a properly furnished dance studio and not a building site dance studio. Still, I was having the best of both worlds whilst Brittany was realising her dream; I could get my papers graded and I could also watch Brittany work. It might not have been dancing and sweating, but it was close enough. Although I was looking forward to when Britt would start auditioning and training the Cheerios. I would have a front row seat watching Brittany and silently ordering the teenagers out of the way from blocking my view of perfection in human form.

"Afternoon Santana!" Will greeted as chipper as ever. It was lunch time, the second best time of the day, and I was sipping my fifth cup of coffee that day whilst reading another one of Sue's magazines. I peered over the rim of my mug and looked at him as he made his way over to my table. "You're not eating anything?" He asked, sitting down and taking his packed lunch out of his little satchel. Swallowing the deliciously bitter taste of my coffee I shook my head. "I'm not hungry." He smiled at me and took a huge bite out of his cookie and I couldn't help chuckling; "Didn't your mom ever tell you to eat your sandwiches before your dessert?" He paused mid chew and looked at me with a small look of guilt, before breaking out into a grin. "Whatever you do, don't tell Emma." We then chuckled to each other and got back to our own lunches and business. Being in a high school however, the peace doesn't last long and pretty soon I was being called out to sort something. Well, not me exactly but Will was always getting into the kids' business and, because he was sat with me, I had to join him.

We made it out into the hallway and I sighed heavily and rolled my eyes. The jerk (I know I shouldn't call my students names, but it was hard not to give him another adjective to describe him as) Puck and some blonde guy who I didn't teach, but I knew who he was. Sam Evens, dyslexic kid who I also nicknamed 'Trouty Mouth' because of how huge his lips were. Again, it wasn't nice to have cruel nicknames for my students, but what else was I supposed to do to pass the time? Besides, it was how I described them to Brittany. Whilst Will dealt with breaking it up between the two smelly teenagers, I looked to the object of their fists. Standing a little way away with a look of bored shock was Quinn Fabray. I moved over to her, wanting to take her away to my classroom so she could explain what was going on, but before I could, Will suddenly lost his hold of both footballers and the two of them were at it again.

Having my background, I knew exactly what to do in this situation. I looked at Quinn with a smirk and a raise of my eyebrow and winked at her before stepping up to the testosterone induced boys. Rolling up my sleeves and I looked down at them and stuck my thumb and first finger into my mouth and unleashed a shockingly loud, piercing whistle. Not only did the two boys stop their childish brawl, but the whole hall stood still and watched with wide eyes at what I was going to do next. From the ground, both boys looked up at me and I bent down to their level, slowly and glaring at them with a menacing stare. I carefully looked at each boy in their black eyes and slightly growled; "If I see either of you fighting over a girl again I will flunk you both so fast you'll have to repeat high school starting from freshman year." It wasn't the best threat in the world, but every teenager wanted to be done with high school as fast as possible so it was the best in this situation. Sam looked at Puck and then back at me before saying; "But you don't even teach me ma'am." Looking at him again I raised my eyebrow at him and smirked. "That won't stop me from flunking you, Sam you Am." He gulped and nodded his head.

Once I had stood up the two boys stood up, with the aid of Will and they mumbled their apologies to me. Rolling my eyes yet again and still keeping my arms folded I spoke. "Don't apologise to me, apologise to Quinn! She's the one you were arguing over like she was a toy to you two toddlers." The two boys looked almost ashamed, but then turned to Quinn and mumbled their apologies again, this time to the one who really deserved it. Once the pathetic 'I'm sorry' were delivered, Will carted them both off to his office for a stern telling off. I was then left with Quinn and escorted her to my classroom so I could get the full story and to see if I could help her.

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

Just when I thought I was going to get through one day of not being hit on by Puck, lunch time rolled around and I was involved in my first fight. Well, I wasn't involved exactly, but I was definitely the 'prize' and the one who was being fought over. It was a stupid boy fight that was typically Neanderthal and animalistic. I half expected Sam and Puck to start grunting at each other; "Me Sam. Pretty girl mine!" and "Me Puck. Pretty girl mine!" At one point of their little brawl I was concerned that I was going to give my eyes some sort of strain ache from all the rolling. Still, what I didn't expect was for Senora Lopez to come over to me after the fight was over and ask me to accompany her to her classroom. Ask me if I was okay, sure, that I was expecting, but not having to talk about it! As I walked slowly with her to the classroom – cheeks burning slightly from the embarrassment of being fought over – I thought that maybe this school would be better than the other one. Where teachers were concerned anyway. If that Mr Schuster guy and this Senora Lopez were anything to go by. Instead of just letting the boys kill (or just injure) each other, Mr Schue (I had heard people refer to him as) pulled them apart and actually talked to them afterwards, trying to find out what was wrong. I guess that's what Senorita Lopez was going to do with me: talk to me and see how she could help.

In the classroom, I expected her to sit behind her desk and get out some sort of 'incident book'. Instead, she grabbed a chair on the front row and spun it around. She sat on it like a person would normally sit on a chair – back against back and one leg crossed over the other – but I had half expected her (admittedly sexy) teacher to straddle the chair like they do in music videos. The raven haired teacher indicated for me to sit in front of her at the desk and I gulped a little. Shuffling over to her, I did as I was silently instructed and then waited for her to talk. For a little while, we just stared at each other. I was waiting for her to talk and she was waiting for me to talk to her. When she realised I was just going to sit there not saying anything until she said something, Senora Lopez raised her brows and smirked at me. "Do you want to tell me what happened or do you want me to come up with elaborate guess?" Her Latina smirk made me smile and I somehow relaxed. Shrugging my shoulders and crossing my arms, I exhaled and rolled my eyes and began to tell her what happened starting with; "It was Puck's fault."

Senora Lopez cackled a great laugh at how I opened our conversation. She flung her head back and extended her long neck. For a moment – whilst she was laughing – I admired the different columns of her throat. My eyes trailed down that caramel pipe and stared at the little dip where her collarbones met. For a quick second I tried to imagine what it felt like lightly run my fingertips over them, to see if they were as bony as they looked. But what made me snap myself back to her attention was the fact my eyes began to wander on their own accord further down to where her blouse opened. By the way she was sitting, with the top half of her body flung back in loud chortles, I could see the outlines of her seemingly large breasts swell under her blouse and if she had tipped herself back just slightly more, I was sure I would be able to see her nipples…of course when that thought crossed my mind I snapped my attention back to continuing my story. Before I could however, Senora Lopez was looking back at me, wiping a laughter tear from her eye. "I had a feeling it would be Senor Puckerman's fault!" She laughed, calming herself down. By the way she was now sitting, back straight again and shirt back in place, I found myself being more comfortable – however a strange part of me I tried to ignore told me to make her laugh again. "Yeah well," I stuttered slightly, "When is a problem never a man's fault?" That did it, because she laughed again, not quite as much but enough to make her hidden breasts dance before me as she shook her shoulders up and down.

Shaking my head, blushing a little at what my eyes were trying to make me look at, I launched into my tale of how the fight began. "It's really not that great a story," in an apologetic tone I told her, but she shrugged her shoulders and stuck her bottom lip out in a 'I don't care tell me' kind of way. "Well," I drawled out, sighing a little. "Puck's been chasing after me for a while, and today he had taken it too far." It was true. He had been following me almost to the point of it being creepy and stalkerish and I had simply had enough. Being lunchtime, I was at my locker sorting my books out. I was just about to grab a textbook and swap it for another when the red metal door of my locker slammed shut, almost taking my fingers off with it. Like a little girl I squealed and turned to see what had happed, checking to see if a screw had come loose and would mean I would have to see the janitor about it. Of course, there was no need to trouble anyone because the cause of my hand almost being slice off was due to an arrogant – ironic considering his religion – pig named Noah 'Puck' Puckerman.

He stared at me with this weird glazed look in his eye which he must have thought had girls swooning at his feet. One arm was propped against the metal lockers, holding up his body that was leaning against it, and the other was crossed over his admittedly muscular, toned torso. Of course when I saw this supposedly sexy and enthralling look, I rolled my eyes at him and growled; "What do you want Puck?" His eyebrows shot up and his smirk became more prominent as he uncrossed his arm and stuck it into his pocket, pushing the crotch of his jeans out towards me. Unfortunately, my eyes trailed to where he was presenting myself and scoffed in disgust as he purred; "You and me in a dark room somewhere." In disgust I picked up my backpack and turned away from him, swishing my hair in his face. Of course he didn't like that I was walking away and he caught me up, calling after me. "Quinn wait! I just want to talk to you," he put his large hand on my shoulder but I shuddered it away, afraid of where it had previously been. "I don't want to talk to you, Puck. You disgust me," I spat in his face and tried to walk off again. Although his smirk grew and I he must have liked this game of 'Cat and Mouse' we were somehow playing because he managed to stand in front of me and stop me in my tracks. "Come on Quinn," he sort of pleaded his hand still in his pocket, no doubt subtly stroking himself with all the excitement of me turning him down. "You're super-hot and that 'innocent good Christian girl' look you got going on," he then leaned into me a little so he was mere centimetres from my face, and whispered in a supposedly sexy voice, "Is really turning me on."

Never in my life had I wished more that my parents allowed me to wear jeans, t-shirt and sneakers. If they heard this Noah Puckerman talk about my dresses and cardigans, I think they wouldn't mind if I dressed in a boiler suit to school! His comment made me blush, and not in a good way! I wished I was wearing shorts or something because I suddenly became terrified that he was going to slide his hand up my thigh and try to touch me because of the 'easy access'. Even though my backpack was sort of restricting, I took my cardigan and tried to wrap it around me even more, fearful he had some sort of x-ray vision and could see my bra through my dress. The fact I looked innocent made me hope that I wouldn't have to deal with these types of problems, but I guess that's reverse psychology for you: if you dress like an innocent virgin, guys will want to investigate. Also, guess I was (just like a lot of the girls here) Puck's forbidden fruit. I imagined that his parents were allowing him to date whoever he wanted as long as he settled down with a good Jewish girl. The fact I was this 'innocent good girl Christian' I was basically everything he wasn't allowed to have on a plate, ready for him to sample.

Before I had the chance to tell him that he should keep his comments to himself, another voice suddenly appeared and even though I knew who it was, my shoulders still tensed. Sam had arrived and placed his hand heavily on Puck's shoulder, spinning him around so that they were now face to face. "Hey man, you know you're hitting on my girl, right?" Sam really didn't suit this gangster tone, but I guess it was how all boys talked when they feared they were being confronted with competition. With an air of arrogance, Puck raised his eyebrows at Sam and sighed; "She's your girl?" He didn't sound too surprised: I guess he thought it was obvious; the two blonde Christians dating each other. Growling a little, Sam scrunched his face up and replied; "Yeah she's my girl now back off!" I expected the shoving and pushing to begin then, but Puck just had to ruffle Sam's blonde feathers a little. He looked back at me, winking as he did so, and then back at me. "Have you slept with her yet?" At this question my cheeks flushed red as brightly as my William McKinley schoolbag. I couldn't believe he had asked that question, still, he wasn't called 'Puck' for nothing I guess, especially with what his name rhymed with. Apparently I wasn't the only one who was blushing from embarrassment. The colour of Sam's cheeks gave me a little more pleasure in knowing he was a virgin too, and therefore might not be so keen on pressuring me into doing anything – especially since I didn't even consider us dating! Puck smirked more at Sam's cheeks. He laughed a little and put his hand on Sam's shoulder in a mock friendly gesture. "She's too good for you man, let someone else have a turn."

That was when the pushing and shoving began. Sam obviously didn't like the idea of me being with anyone else in whatever context and so he shoved Puck's hand off his shoulder. The shove didn't end there because he then took hold of Puck's arm and placed one hand on his Tarzan chest and shoved him into the nearest wall of lockers. I gasped a little at the force of it. Yes Sam was on the football team, but he really didn't look all that strong. The force was so much that Puck's own backpack fell off his shoulder and landed on the ground. The smirk was promptly wiped off his face but his confidence certainly was not knocked out of him. Like a rhino, he charged for Sam and tackled him into the other side of the lockers. Pretty soon the two of them began to, what looked like to me, practice their football huddles, with my 'heart' as the football. They were grunting and cursing and mumbling things that I didn't care to hear.

I wasn't sure which one of them threw the first punch, but within moments, not only were their words flying through the air but so were their punches. My eyes widened slightly, purely because I didn't want to be hit in the face by one of their fists. I highly doubted my parents would like it if they had to be called in because I had broken my nose. Not soon after the shouts and punches caused a bit of a crowd did Senorita Lopez and Mr Schuster appear and that was when I stopped my story. Shrugging my shoulders I looked at her nonchalantly; "And that's what happened." All throughout my seemingly long tale, Senorita Lopez had been listening intently and nodding her head. My lip between my teeth, I waited for Senorita Lopez's verdict. I suddenly felt as if I was on trial and she was judge, deciding if my story was legitimate or if she was the prosecutor and was now going to rip me to shreds and start saying things about me. What she did say, I certainly was not expecting especially considering the topic was only a short part of my story – I thought anyway.

In a very simple, matter of fact way she asked; "You're a virgin right Quinn?" At first my eyes bugged a little and I was sure if I was drinking some water it would have been splattered all over her. I couldn't believe she had asked me if I was a virgin. I mean, sure, I looked like one – if virgins had a particular 'look' – but I honestly couldn't believe she had asked me. I wasn't sure if it was the fact she was a teacher and had asked, or if it was because she was just so blunt with asking. Throughout my story, I had pretty much made direct eye contact and hadn't really faulted in keep it. Now however my eyes slid down to the small table we were sharing. I had to think of what to say. If I should say anything at all! Were teachers even allowed to ask things like that? Sure they had a duty of care, but was this really a part of that category? Still, I guess she was just watching out for me. Probably because I had mentioned what Puck had said word for word, she was concerned that I might be taken advantage of. In that case, I suppose she was validated to ask.

Keeping my eyes downcast slightly, I nodded my head. Even though I couldn't see her, I knew Senorita Lopez was smiling softly at me. Trying to catch my eye, she dipped her face and looked at me with an expression of pure understanding and trust. "Just be careful okay?" She told me in a soft voice, almost like a whisper. I raised my eyes a little and looked her straight in the eye. She looked so kind and warm, a complete contrast to the Senorita Lopez I saw in class. "You want my advice," she paused, seeing if I was going to nod or shake my head. When I did neither, she took it that I was just waiting for her to continue – which I was – and she smiled with an even softer curl of her lips. "Wait until you are completely comfortable," she emphasised the 'you' and I felt myself being sucked even more into her words of advice. With a shrug she continued, "And I'd even go as far to say, wait until you're in love. Completely, truly and utterly in love." Her voice had dipped into a husky whisper. She reminded me of my own personal Yoda – except without the Kermit the Frog tone. I nodded my head slowly, taking in her words. Licking my lips, I cracked my vocal chords and admitted in a tiny whisper; "I'm supposed to wait until marriage." I felt cheeks blush again, considering a lot of girls certainly didn't wait until marriage. Even though my father had basically given me permission to have premarital relations with Sam, I knew that probably wouldn't happen – especially if Puck had gotten to Sam. Senorita Lopez raised her eyebrows at me and I could just see her hand itching to reach out and placed itself on my shoulder as a physical form of comfort. Instead she told me; "You're not 'supposed' to do anything except what you feel is right. Whether that be to sleep with someone now, later or when you have a ring on your finger and stepping out of the floor length white dress." My breath hitched at the way she said 'someone'. My logical side of my brain was telling me that, as a teacher, she was being subjective and couldn't make assumptions. The fearful part of my brain was screaming alarm and warning bells at me, telling me to get out of there. Abandon ship! Brace! Evacuate!

Within seconds I had scrambled off my chair and was fixing my backpack to my back. "Thank you Senorita Lopez," the words rushed out of my mouth like a blizzard and I ran to the door, thanking her and stuttering that I had to get ready for class. As I was leaving I heard her call out; "No problem Quinn!" I knew I shouldn't have run out, but it was natural human instinct: fight or flight and for as long as I can, I am always going to fly.

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

For me, it had been one of the longest days of my life! I had broken up my first high school fight (which was ironic considering how many I started back in high school) and had sort of had my first ever sex talk. With a pupil none the less! I was a little concerned that I had crossed some sort of boundary and line, because I had never seen a young girl run out a room like that so fast. She looked positively terrified. I wasn't sure which part had scared her so much, considering I thought my advice was pretty good and I imagined using it for other pupils – if they asked for it of course – and maybe, one day, using it for my own kids – if my insecurities ever let me have kids. Brittany had noticed I wasn't acting myself, and so at the dinner table that evening (we had somehow managed to have dinner together) she leaned over and plucked the fork out of my hand.

At the intrusion of me eating my food I frown down at the plate and then at my wife. Her beautiful sea blue eyes bore into mine and her smile made my insides go a little gooey. "Are you okay?" Her voice was, of course, soft and welcoming and I couldn't help but stand so I could lean over the table too and caress her cheek with my palm, pressing a soft kiss on her cheek. When I pulled back I saw she had blushed a little, reminding me of Quinn. Sitting back down, I then sighed and began to tell her what had happened. "I think I scared a student off about sex." I knew I didn't quite make sense, but Brittany understood me completely. Again she sent me a little smile and took hold of my hand across the table. "How?" She asked, and I told her the advice I had given my young student. Her face looked like it melted a little more in love with me and before I could pick up her hand and kiss it, she did that exact action to my own hand. Instead of telling me what to do, of course, she told me something else. "I am so proud of you, I think you are going to be an excellent mom with that kind of advice to give."

My stomach dropped a little. That really wasn't the response I was looking for. Also I felt a little angry. Of course that was going to be the answer she was going to give! At the moment, she only had two things on her mind: her dance studio and babies. Promptly l kissed her hand and then changed the topic to something boring; finances, and hoped we wouldn't have to have a discussion on the forbidden topic: children of our own.


	5. Chapter Four: First Confessions

**Mi Vida...Not So Loca**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**First Confessions**

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

After the talk I had had with Senorita Lopez, I tried to avoid her as much as possible. Except of course in class. I just didn't look at her and only mumbled my replied whenever she asked me something. Of course, I realised I was being silly. By me ignoring her, my learning in her class was starting to make me suffer. Sat in the classroom, I felt as if everyone else was fluent in the language, where I was still mixing up 'por' and 'para'. Rachel was constantly trying to practice speaking Spanish to me at lunch and I could tell she was getting kind of frustrated at me not knowing the answers. I knew full well that Broadway was dream and everything but she would make a great teacher; especially because she could keep her frustration bubbling just below the surface and never let it show. When I would shrug and shake my head, admitting that I didn't know a simple answer to a simple question or be able to carry on a real conversation, she would inhale sharply through her nose and smile brightly as she exhaled and would say in her kind of adorable, chirpy voice; "Don't worry, you'll get it!" Of course, it was obvious I wouldn't because I wasn't learning anything. There was only so much I could teach myself when I was by myself in my room. There were just something's a person couldn't learn by themselves. They could only know so much. I knew that if I wanted to keep my grade average impeccable (and my father happy) I had to give in into my embarrassment and ask for help. One day after her class, I decided to be brave and face up to her. I had to ask her to be my tutor, something I hoped she would be willing to do.

A high pitch ringing woke me up from my daydream. In Senorita Lopez's class I couldn't help but zone out and just stare off into space, wandering off to my own little world. Sometimes I wasn't even sure of what I was thinking about. Sometimes I would pretend to be listening and I would watch Senorita Lopez in her element. The way her mouth formed the words of a language I wasn't even slowly picking up. Sometimes she would get so into explaining something that she would use elaborate arm movements and gestures and her face would light up. I loved it when she said something in a clearly over-accented way and she would smirk at the class, making them laugh. I understood why Spanish was considered the sexiest language in the world: it obviously because the people who spoke it were sexy as…well…as sex. I'm pretty sure thinking that Senorita Lopez was sexy purely because she spoke fluent Spanish was a little racist because there were clearly other things that made her sexy…that's what the boys outside the class would say anyway. Not that I would think she was sexy, especially after our talk.

Other times, however, I would just look at Rachel and admire how studious she was. Occasionally I imagined how pretty and sexy she would look wearing my black rimmed glasses and if she had her hair up, dressed in a white blouse and a grey pencil skirt, looking like a secretary or something. Sometimes she would put the end of her pen in her mouth and chew on it for a moment, her eyebrows knitted together and her mouth puckered in concentration. Then, as if a button had been suddenly pressed, she would spring to life and begin scribbling things down in her Spanish Flag decorated notebook. Then I would admire her hands and her fingers. During normal note taking, her fingers would be so delicate and her writing so smooth and neat. The words on her page formed almost like an ice skater gliding across a frozen lake in Canada. For the whole hour, I could just watch her write notes. I'd never read any of them, but I'd just watch her beautiful fingers make words on the pages like a painter painting the next best masterpiece. She took such care in her work it made me kind of jealous that I sometimes made half hearted, not really caring ones. Then of course, she would sometimes catch me staring at her hands and she would assume I was trying to see something she had written. With a caring smile and small flick of her hand, she would then twist her page round so I could see what she had written and fall a little more in lo…admiration…fall with a little more admiration and respect for her handwriting and note taking. Then the bell would ring, of course, and another Spanish class was wasted with me simply daydreaming about watching Rachel write.

"Bueno, la classe, hasta luego!" I loved that she always ended our classes on such an informal note. Other teachers would yell at us to remember our homework or would simply tell us to get out. I wasn't the only one who liked this friendly 'chit chat' attitude Senorita Lopez had. Sure she had a real hard shell during the class and didn't take any nonsense, but once her sixty minutes were up, she would suddenly relax her face a little and would make sure we all had our stuff and our assignments and would actually wish us a good rest of the day – en Español, of course. It was probably because she didn't want to be kept back any longer than she had to be, where our stuff was concerned, but it was still nice of her. Rachel was packing her backpack and talking to me, asking if she wanted her to walk me to my biology class considering her chemistry class was on the way. Blinking a little – because I was kind of staring at Senorita Lopez making sure she wasn't trying to make a dash for the door any time soon – I focused on Rachel and shrugged one shoulder. "I don't want to hold you up," I then indicated with my head towards Senorita Lopez, "I've got to ask Senorita Lopez something." Rachel smirked at me and made a comment about if it was about getting extra help, considering I hadn't written anything down the entire lesson. As she giggled on her way out, I pretended to smack her on the head, but smiled anyway. Then, once she left, it was just Senorita Lopez and I.

And suddenly I was nervous.

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

Butterflies had been mating and reproducing in my stomach all week and now I just had enough food in my stomach to finally release the contents of it and throw up. It wasn't the best thing to be thinking about when I was teaching my students, but it wasn't my fault. It was Brittany's. The previous few days and nights she had been giving me this weird smile. Normally her smiles were anything but weird. They were beautiful and innocent and just…Brittany smiles. She was her very own adjective and no other ones were needed. But ever since I had told her about the talk I had with my student, she had been giving me these far away dreaming gazes. At first I thought it was just because she loved me, so I gave her them back, but then she began to cuddle me differently. Again, normally there was nothing strange about her cuddles because, again, they were Brittany. But now, when she cuddled me she would take my hands off her breasts and the top of her stomach and move them slowly down towards her lower abdomen. At first, I thought this was just her way of asking me to…well…'have relations' with her. But then the previous night, she kept them firmly there and sort of whisper moaned; "Good practise for when it really happens, huh?" And then my eyes shot open and they really did freeze on her stomach because now I scared. Terrified. All the pieces came together I realised how stupid I had been.

She wanted a baby and she wanted to talk about it and now I needed to be sick.

"Senorita Lopez?" My thoughts were interrupted by a voice I hadn't realised was present, and I quickly transformed from 'Santana' to 'Senorita Lopez'. Seeing the voice had come from Quinn, I softened my expression and leaned back on my desk, smiling at her. "Sup Q," I greeted, trying to get past the obvious embarrassment she was radiating – probably because of our talk. And then I felt nauseated again because I suddenly thought this was why she had stayed after class. Oh no, she wanted to carry on the conversation! I felt sick again. Why was this happening to me? Why did one blonde want to talk about sex and have advice on it and why did another blonde want to talk about babies and actually having one? Was sex all that people (blondes especially) cared about? "Senorita Lopez?" She spoke again and I realised that I had zoned out into my own little world. Her eyebrows were furrowed and she asked; "Are you alright? You look a little pale?" She then moved back as if I was about to throw up on her. Which I may very well just do. "Maybe I should come back later." But then I realised I had to be professional: leave Brittany and babies and home life at home. Focus on your students; I yelled at myself and I jolted back into life. "No stay!" I practically yelled at her and then Quinn and I had each other's full attentions.

For a moment neither of us knew what to say, we just sort of looked at each other; Quinn shifting nervously from foot to foot and me rapping and tapping my fingernails against the old wood of my desk. Finally I took some action, being the adult and the teacher of course. I cleared my throat and shook my head a bit, my hair fluttering like a mane and I saw that Quinn watched it float around before resting neatly down my back. "So, Quinn, what did you want to talk to me about?" I hoped I hadn't stuttered and my voice hadn't cracked, that would have shown weakness and one of the first rules of being a teacher is to NEVER show weakness. They should make inspirational posters of it. Maybe a family of ducks all standing by a pond with some giant crocodile in it with the caption 'Teachers Never Show Fear'. I'd have to tell Brittany about it later because her favourite animal is a duck, of course then she'd want to paint ducks on the wall of the baby's room and…ugh no! Another inspirational poster would be to not get distracted by your own thoughts! Lucky for me, Quinn was only just opening her mouth. Her eyes were down cast and her hands were in front of her, fingers fidgeting and lip being nibbled and bit out some nervous habit. "Well I was just…" She then stopped herself speaking and I thought that I would just have to take charge otherwise we wouldn't get anywhere and the awkwardness of this conversation would just drag on for far too long.

Doing just that, taking charge, I pushed myself off the desk and sat down in the seat closest to Quinn, only I also grabbed a chair for Quinn to sit down on as well. "Sit down Quinn," I told her in a semi harsh way. The girl responded to that and hurriedly took her seat. Okay, so we were sat down, now what? I cleared my throat again and looked at her with a blank expression: they are the best ones to use in a time like this. "Quinn whatever you want to talk to me about will stay between you and me," except for what we discussed last time we were in this predicament considering I had already told my wife, "So whatever it is you can trust me." The blonde looked up at me and actually made eye contact. I was a little taken aback. When I talked to my mom about sex for the first time, I couldn't even be in the same room as her. She actually had to stand on the other side of my bedroom door whilst we had 'the talk'. For Brittany, it wasn't so bad considering her mom caught us in a pretty heavy out session. The first clue that we already knew what we needed to do must have been the fact that my bra was on the floor and my eyes were squeezed so tightly closed because Britt's amazing mouth was sucking the lift out of my breast, whilst her other hand was teasing the other. The awkward part was really just her mom hugging and kissing Brittany – once we were both more appropriately dressed – and crying over how much she loved her and how happy she was that she was with me. Although my mother in law and I were close, I still felt kind of weird hugging her, especially as she had just seen the physical reaction her daughter had on me. But this was all beside the point, because we weren't talking about my first sex talk. We were – or would be soon – talking about Quinn's sex talk and I had to be mature and focus and most definitely not thinking about all the skills my wife possessed when she wanted to be 'modern day, grown up romantic'.

Now it was Quinn's turn to clear her throat. During my little daydream/flashback, she had been chewing on her lip again and looking around the room. She now had the confidence she needed to start talking. And was completely prepared. Except I wasn't, because what I was expecting her to say was something like, "My boyfriend wants me to have sex with him and I'm just not ready" or "Could you possibly buy me some condoms because I'm too scared to do it myself." What got instead was, "I was wondering if you would consider tutoring me in Spanish." My eyes bugged a little, even though they really had no reason to considering this was a pretty normal and legitimate question for a student to ask their teacher. Maybe I was just the one with their heads stuck in a gutter somewhere. Because I hadn't answered her, Quinn then started to ramble on about how she had never needed to ask for help before and how embarrassed she was about confessing to needing help and that she would be more than willing to pay for my services. At the mention of money, I shook my head and patted my hand on the desk to silence her. "Quinn stop it's okay," I told her and once again through my simple command, she closed her mouth and stopped. I shot her a smile I only ever used with Brittany and I saw her relax. No wonder Brittany said it was a magical smile; I have the power to calm down blondes with a simple, special smile!

Now that my student was a little calmer, I straightened myself up and tried to appear a little more professional – especially now our conversation was going to have NOTHING to do with sex. "Quinn I would be more than happy to tutor you, but I don't want you to pay me." The responsible, financial side of me was yelling at me. I knew we needed all the money we could get, what with Brittany's studio and her…future plans, but I just couldn't find it in me to take money off the girl who was clearly struggling. Besides, it would give something to do in the evenings when Brittany was teaching classes and whatnot. I would just have to worry about the logistics later; it could look a little weird if a teacher and a student were seen together late at night talking in a romantic language. Still, then those people would have to be slapped if they would think anything off by it. In fact, I would personally slap them myself. But before I could get into another little rant, I carried on talking, especially when Quinn was trying to protest about paying me for something teachers should be willing to do. "What exactly are you struggling in Quinn?" Then the girl paused and thought for a moment, before her cheeks blushed. "Everything," she mumbled and I let out a little – very out of character – giggle. "Well Quinn, that doesn't really give me a lot to work with!" Quinn blushed a little harder and it reminded me of when I took Brittany out on a date…no! Stop it!

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

This was the reason why people shouldn't over think things too much. I had worked myself up so much about what to say to Senorita Lopez and trying to get over my embarrassment that I had forgotten she was a teacher and that it was kind of her job to help me out in whatever way she could. From what I could tell in some of the classes, she had seemed a little stressed and a little preoccupied, thoughts wise. But now, sitting and talking with her like a normal person and not some babbling mess, I could see that she was probably just thinking of school stuff, considering that's what teachers always thought about. Or, maybe because this was technically a free period for her – I guessed, considering she hadn't hurried me out – she was thinking of her special someone. I tried to imagine her with a husband and maybe a little toddler tottering around the house, but then I would get distracted by some pretty damaging images. I don't think anyone (boy or girl) should be thinking of their teacher having sex with their spouse. It made me shudder with disgust on my own part and embarrassment on hers. Instead, I tried to imagine the romantic side of their relationship. Probably being a little stereotypical and slightly racist, I imagined her cooking up a huge dish of Paella and feeding it to her husband and then, once the baby had gone to bed, they would dance in their living room or just snuggle together whilst drinking red wine and whispering 'Te amo' to each other. Wow. It amazed me I could barely order a glass of water, and yet I knew what 'I love you' was in Spanish. Of course, my mind would plummet into the land of Playboy and stripper clubs because I then imagined their kisses and touches becoming more frantic and passionate, and soon clothes were being ripped off backs and breasts would be exposed, moans ricocheted around the rooms and…Oh God, teenage hormones were annoyingly inappropriate and just plain old annoying!

Still, once I got talking to Senorita Lopez, my worries were kind of floating away. In fact the only thing I was worried about was the fact I was missing biology and really, I didn't care too much about that considering it was taught in English and we were only going through a test I knew I had aced anyway. Biting my lip I giggled at Senorita Lopez's remark; "I know, I'm really sorry Senorita Lopez. I know that's the worst thing a student could say," apart from 'I fantasize about you having wild, loud, Spanish sex with your husband during your classes, "Bu it's true. I'm really struggling, even with the notes Rachel has given me." Her shoulders shook as little when I mentioned Rachel's notes. "Yes she certainly takes detailed notes, doesn't she?" She remarked and I found myself laughing too, but strangely enough I felt like defending my petite, brunette starlet of a friend. I put it down to us just being friends and so I ignored it – of course then part of my brain just couldn't wait to see her again!

My teacher shrugged her shoulders and then flicked her whip of a ponytail behind her again and she motioned for a pen that was ironically still sat on a desk behind me, she also indicated for a piece of paper from my backpack, which I of course gave her within seconds. "Tell you what," she announced, uncapping the pen and began scribbling on the butterfly bordered piece of lined paper I had given her. "Why don't we start of slow? Every Saturday we meet somewhere like…I don't know a coffee shop, and each week we'll go over a new topic. How does that sound?" She asked, flickering her eyes back up to me. For a second I swore my heart stopped beating and my breath hitched a little: her eyes sparkled and twinkled like diamond stars. And for an even briefer second, they reminded me of Rachel's…but I snapped the image of Rachel gazing up at me from somewhere and focused back on Senorita Lopez with a huge, probably menacing grin. "That sounds awesome Senorita Lopez!" I basically squealed like a child. I may have well said 'Gee whiz!' or 'Boy wow thanks!' like some kid in an old, cheesy movie. Again, my Latina teacher chuckled and handed me a little timetable. We were to meet at the coffee shop in the centre of the town – not far from the school and weirdly enough, not far from where I lived, for about an hour and a half. At first, it looked like we were going to practise basic ora…conversation! Conversation, God, stupid teenage stuff, and then gradually move on to what we're doing in classes. It all looked pretty good to me.

As I stood up, exchanging phone numbers and email addresses, Senorita Lopez smiled at me and said I would be fluent in no time. I raised my eyebrow up at her questioningly, but waved her goodbye and made my way to my next class. Senorita Lopez wrote me a hall pass and a 'Sorry I'm later' pass, but somehow she had also stuck another piece of paper with it. It was a little note saying; "Don't let boys get you down chica, they're not worth it!" She'd even decorated with a winky smiley face. It made me smile and blush but then that same feeling of dread and fear crossed over me and I shoved the note in my cardigan pocket. She was right, boys weren't worth it, but I was beginning to have the feeling that maybe girls…

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

After giving Quinn that little inspirational note, I felt really proud of myself. I guess our little conversation we had could now be seen as some sort of private joke between us and it made me feel…I don't know, just good about myself. It wasn't often in my place of work did teachers feel good about themselves – except for the slave driver Coach Sylvester. I was convinced that she was only satisfied that her day went well if one of her Cheerios came to her on a drip because of severe dehydration from her gruelling practices or if another one came to her saying they were out of Slushie because they used it all up on the losers. But I was not Coach Sue Sylvester. I was Santana Maria Lopez and I felt good about myself because I did my job and actually made only someone's day better but in some way their life a little better. That was, until I got home later that evening and saw Brittany waiting for me with that look she had been giving me all week. Now the fluttering butterflies weren't from making Quinn feel happy and good about herself, they were from this dreaded conversation I was going to have to have.

Eating dinner with her, I was playing around with two questions and then a million sub questions: did I tell her point blank I didn't want a baby until we were in New York or Paris or somewhere where our family lifestyle would be way more accepted than here? Or, did I just go along with it and have a baby, even though it didn't feel quite right with me? Ugh I felt sick, even though Brittany had cooked a fabulous dinner. It wasn't so much the fact I didn't want a baby because I do. Honestly I do. I always have, I guess it's that girly, mothering instinct within me to give life and nurture. But heck, it would be so much easier if I was straight. Or a man. If I was a man then we wouldn't have any problem; I would be able to give Brittany a baby in no time. In fact we probably would have already had one, if our honeymoon was anything to go by. But if was a man, would I still have Brittany? Maybe, maybe not.

As hard as I try I'll never forget the day she told me she was bisexual. Sure we had both slept with boys; me because it was what I was (sort of) expect to do, being a girl and all, and because I was trying to hide who I really was, but with me it never felt right. I just felt dirty and ashamed of myself, like I shouldn't be doing it. Brittany slept with guys because she liked it. She didn't really have these conflicting thoughts that made her cry into her pillow after being with a guy, or frantically scrubbing away at herself like some crazed OCD sufferer. I remember one night, after we had finished making out and we were watching a movie, asking if she thought it was weird that I liked making out with girls more than boys. She turned her head and looked up at me – considering she was resting in my arms at the time – and with a little smile, she shrugged. "No I don't think it's weird," she then turned her head back to the television screen and shrugged again, "It's just because you really like being with me." I wished that she had stopped there because I blushed so wildly that I was so thankful she was watching the movie. But then what she said next would make me fear and doubt our relationship for a long time after that. Nestling her head into me she continued by saying; "I mean, I like making out with guys and girls because it both feels right." With a slight look of confusion I asked her what she meant and when she announced quite casually; "I mean because I'm bisexual." When she told me that, I could have vomited all over her. Instead, I kept it to myself.

Now, whenever I think of us having a baby – which has become way too often since we moved here – I always fear that if I tell her I don't want to have a baby yet, she'll one day walk out with a note simply stating that she wanted to be with someone who did want one. And I think that would kill me. It would be like her taking the gun my abuelito gave me as a souvenir from his war days, buy a bullet, put it to my temple and pull the trigger without a second thought. I know that I'm being kind of overdramatic and stupid because her vows quite simply stated she would always love me and always be with me. But, sometimes those vows got broken; why did you think so many marriages ended up in divorce? If I was a man, we wouldn't have this problem. We would just be any other ordinary couple in this town trying to start a family and no one would care. But I'm not a man and I'm not straight; I am a gay woman in a lesbian relationship and my wife wants a baby. A baby I don't want yet.

"Do you like it darling?" She asked, blowing on her own forkful of food. Blinking at my own fork, I saw that I had barely touched my food and I felt guilty. Guilty for two reasons: one, for not eating it, and two, for about to break her heart. Clattering my cutlery down I sighed and rubbed my eyes. Even though I couldn't see her, I could tell she was now staring at me with a worried look in her eyes. Her forehead would be creased with worry line and her bottom lip would be pulled in between her teeth. Any second now she was about to ask- "Baby are you okay?" And again I exhaled a very loud sigh. I couldn't do this. I couldn't shatter that beautiful heart of hers. I couldn't. But I was about to.

Dragging my hands down my face I saw her angelic face come into focus. Seeing her crystal blue eyes shine so much love and concern at me, I tried to smile but it came out as some sort of grimace. Pushing my dish away I breathed out her name; "Britt," and I took hold of her dainty, delicate, fantastic hands. I held them in my own and just stared down at them. These hands had been such a huge part of my life. I remember daydreaming about holding them in public and kissing them and having them all over my body. The day I slipped her engagement ring on her finger I thought they were beautiful, but with her wedding ring on both hands just looked exquisite. "Britt," I breathed again, this time my voice a little stronger, "I need to tell you something." My eyes didn't dare look at her, and yet something was pulling my head up, forcing me to look at her. I swore it was Brittany's own magical eyes, like she was the centre of the Earth's magnetic force. My chocolate eyes fixed on her sky blue one and I swore I could feel myself crying before my tears had even formed. I didn't want to read the emotion in those eyes and so I just got my sentence out as fast as I possibly could. "Brittany, my love, I don't want to have a baby." In my own hands, I felt her fingers tense and it was as if my eyes had opened a book because I read all the emotions my wife was feeling in that moment: at first it was shock but then she relaxed a little and she said, somehow with a small smile, "You mean you don't want to have one right now with the studio being built?" Oh how could I let my naïve, sweet, beautiful wife down even further? Before I had the chance to lie, my head was shaking from side to side, indicating that no. I didn't want a baby whilst the studio was being built, that I possibly didn't want a baby at all.

Again I saw the emotions in her eyes and this time I saw confusion. I had to speak. I couldn't let my eyes do the talking and so I swallowed thickly and spoke. "Brittany, I can't have a baby. I can't have one now and…and as long as we're here I don't think I can have one at all." It was true. Although I phrased it so I gave her hope in that we could have a baby in the future if we moved, in reality I knew she wasn't going to see it like that. She had her sights set on this place as the 'home' in which we would raise our children. We weren't going to leave. She wasn't going to leave and she was going to raise her children here. Blonde eyebrows furrowed further and she asked; "So in order for us to have a baby, I have to leave my business that I've been working for and towards my whole life?" Again, I could have lied and given her more hope, but I didn't. Solemnly, my head nodded and my mouth moved, my voice making noise. "I know it might not seem like a big deal, but I can't raise a baby here Brittany. Paris or New York sure, but not here." I told her and lowered my head so I couldn't further get turned into stone. "But I want to raise our children here," she argued with a bit of a bite I wasn't expecting. "Here is perfect!" She emphasised and like a jerk I simply shrugged my shoulders.

Yanking my hands away, Brittany tried to calm herself down by taking some deep breaths. Her chest was heaving and her shoulders were rising and falling so quickly I feared she was hyperventilating. Then, I like a firework shooting into the sky, she stood up, pushing the chair back and then she gave me one last look. Amazingly she had no tears in her eyes. Yet. Then she shook her head, more just for herself, probably to stop her from talking to me, and then she headed for the door. Scared she was going to leave there and then, I reached out for her hand, "Britt" I called, but she just walked quickly out of the room and up the stairs, where I then heard our bedroom door slam shut a few moments later and I was left by myself.

I'd done it. I had not only broken my soul mate's heart but I had shattered it, ripped it, torn it up and trampled on it. Now all I had to do was wait for her to leave and wait for me to die a slow and painful death through the failure of my own broken heart.


	6. Chapter Five: Unwanted Touches

**Mi Vida...Not So Loca**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**Unwanted Touches**

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

To say that my evening was once of pure bliss and love, would be a complete, huge, gigantic lie.

After I heard Brittany slam our bedroom shut, I stayed sat at our dining room table. The food still hot on our plates, the candles still lit and the heartbreak that I had just committed still heavy in the air, like rain after a thunder storm. For a little while I just sat there, staring at nothing but thinking of everything. Wishing I could just take it all back. Everything. Every last word I had uttered. I wished I had never brought up the conversation. I wish, when she asked about me liking the dinner, I could have just smiled at her and told her how wonderful it was. We could have just had a light conversation and she might not even have brought up the issue of having a baby. Even if she had, I wish I could have just smiled and nodded my head, not having a real discussion. We probably could be making love right now, or maybe just having really hot sex. But no. I had to be a jerk and shatter my adoring wife's heart by basically telling her there was no way I was going to have a baby with her. And the feeling of guilt was making me sick.

For a while longer I still remained sat in my chair, listening to the sounds of the house we lived in. Of the home my wife wanted to fill with adorable, laughing children. She probably wanted to be like the Von Trapp family and have a whole house of singing, dancing and puppet loving children. And a pet duck because she loved ducks. I could just imagine her teaching our firstborn how to dance before they could walk and getting me to teach them songs in not only English, but also in Spanish. I imagined us living in a bilingual house; hearing our baby call out 'mom' and 'mami'. I could imagine Brittany taking them to every kind of dance class under the sun, just so they could try it. She would be an amazing mom. Although she'd be driven, she'd never push them into doing anything they didn't want to do, and if they didn't want to dance then she would encourage them to do whatever they actually did want to do. She would be so encouraging and loving that our children could help feel nothing but love.

Brittany would definitely be the softy; the one who would make them snuggle in between us when they had a nightmare or wet the bed, the one who would be there in the school yard with a juice box and a cookie, ready to pin up yet another painting on the refrigerator. Every Saturday she would take them to the park and give them ice cream, even if it was the middle of winter. I would be 'the dad' and be the sensible one. I would be the one getting told to move over so our little one could snuggle in between us, even though I would probably be trying to snuggle with Brittany myself. I would be the one to get out of bed and change the wet sheets and then redress the bed before snuggling with them again; wrapping them both up in my arms. I would be the one telling them to wash their hands before dinner and telling them to put the cookie back and have an apple instead, heck, I'd probably yell at them in Spanish if they did something wrong and raise my eyebrows at them! As far as relationships were concerned, if we had a daughter, I would totally scare her dates into never wanting to get into her pants until she was married to them. No one would dare touch my little girl more than hand holding and then she could begin to think about kissing at eighteen. As for my son, I'd be really cool about it and tell him over dinner or whilst playing a video game with him to be careful with girls and treat them right. As for sex, on his eighteenth birthday I'd give him a pack of condoms with a warning note on them saying to please God wait until he was ready and when the girl was ready too. For any of my children where relationships were concerned; we'd teach them to love whoever they wanted and to be treated well. All I would ever ask is that they loved and were loved themselves.

But then, just as my thoughts would wander to the land of 'How Marvellous Everything Would Be', a frightening reality would shine through and interrupt my thoughts like an alarm sounding. Our children would be teased for having two moms and they would either get into fights for hearing someone call one of us a dyke or they would spend their recess and lunch breaks in the bathroom crying because no one wanted to be the friend of the kid with lesbians for moms. They would be picked on for not looking the same or they would be bullied for not really being siblings. Basically our children would be excluded purely because of our love.

I knew that a girl in one of my sophomore classes, Rachel Berry, had two fathers but she lived with her mother. I could only imagine how much hassle she must have gotten growing up. No wonder the poor girl chose to live with her mom. Thinking of her situation, I guess she was lucky. She had a mother to turn to before she hit puberty. Having two fathers must be awkward for a girl. Who did she turn to when she needed to buy her first bra, or needed to know why the hell she woke up bleeding and having a killer stomach ache and who would she had gone to about sex? Sure, I bet her dads were really good guys, but they couldn't understand what being a girl was like! They couldn't exactly take her to a store and help her pick out bras and panties and help her adjust them. And how awkward would it be, to go to your dad and ask for some sanitary towels or tampons and have them wash your bloody panties because you didn't know you were about to menstruate or you miscalculated when your period was going to come? As for sex, who went to their fathers about a sex talk? Boys, sure, but a girl? As far as men are concerned, their little girls will always be little girls and I highly doubt either of her fathers wanted to know she was having crushes on boys – or God forbid actually thinking about sex in the privacy of her bedroom!

But what about our child? Sure, if we had a daughter it would be fine because we would know exactly what do and we could probably try and get our sanitary products in bulk when the time came. But what about if we had a little boy? Sure, a little boy would be okay but what happened when he turned into a man? How could we teach him how to shave or tell him that certain parts of his body were going to change and not to worry because every boy goes through it? And sex! Oh God how embarrassing would that be for him? Even if we brought him up dressing him in rainbow pride shirts and 'I love my moms' shirts for his entire life, there would be no way he would come to us asking for sex advice. I know I wouldn't want to go to my mom for sex advice if I was a guy!

And what about Brittany? Ever since I first heard someone tell her she was stupid, I vowed never to let anyone hurt her. Even though the image of her with a swollen belly and reading pregnancy books with me rubbing at her sore feet made me smile slightly, I couldn't forget about the reality. If we stayed here, which was what Brittany wanted to do, then we would be seen as the two women who think they can raise a normal child; in the eyes of this community anyway. All throughout Brittany's pregnancy, people would ask her how excited she and her husband were and she would correct them by saying how excited she and her WIFE were and then they would wrinkle their noses up at her and walk away. In the doctor's waiting room, she would be surrounded by same sex couples all discussing names and colour schemes and schools and who the baby would look like and she would be the only one who could say that her baby would definitely look like her. Walking down the street, I didn't want her to be subjected to any type of cruelty because she was a pregnant woman married to another woman. A frightening thought came to my mind; what if she was coming back from the store or something and someone pushed her and spat out horrible remarks, purely because she was married to me and she fell and she lost the baby? She would be distraught and…No. I couldn't have that.

Sure there was always the possibility that someone was going to hurt her (or me) because of our relationship, but there was no way I was going to allow a child to be subjected to that. As a parent it would be our job to protect our children. As wife and soul mate of Brittany, it was my life to protect her.

I wasn't sure how long I had been sat at the table for, but it must have been a long time because the candles were almost burnt out and the aroma from the food had vanished. Taking a deep breath, I stood up and went to go and check on my wife. Slowly I descended the stairs, thinking of something to say. But then, what could I say; 'Sorry darling I was joking let's head down to the sperm bank right now!' But I had to say something. We had never, in all our time being in a romantic relationship together, slept on an argument. Even it if meant yelling and crying and stomping our feet late into the night, we never left things on a negative note. We always ended up apologising and saying how much we loved each other. Sometimes it would end in cuddling up close to each other, holding each other as tightly as possible, other times we would kiss each other's tears away and a few times it ended in us making love to each other just to prove how much we still loved each other. However, when I knocked on the door and heard no reply of any kind, I knew this would be the first night ever where we would have gone to bed and woken up still will the same tension rising.

Placing my forehead to the door, I rapped my knuckles against the wood and called out for my wife. "Brittany?" I asked quietly, keeping my voice calm and the tears at bay. "Britt?" I asked again and this time I opened the door. The sight before me made those tears begin to break through the barrier I kept them behind. In front of me I saw my wife had thrown my pillows to the floor and she had turned our wedding photograph on the dresser facing down so she couldn't look at me. She lay under the covers with her fists clenched and her face scrunched up. As I came closer I could see the tear stains on her pillows and cheeks and I sniffled a heaving breath at the realisation that I was the one to make her cry so badly. Not wanting to disturb her, I bent down carefully and wiped her bangs from her face. Sniffling once more I pressed my now salty lips to her forehead and whispered; "I love you Brittany," before turning around and heading into the guest room – that she had already picked out to be the baby's bedroom.

Just entering the room where I knew Brittany wanted to put a child in made me break down. I collapsed on the bed sobbing. Why was it so hard? Why couldn't I just give her what she wanted and not worry about everything? Why was I ruining us because of my insecurities? Why was I making her cry when she should be laughing? Why was breaking us through something so beautiful?

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

Most kids would never be excited about meeting their teacher's for coffee to have private lessons, especially on a weekend. But I was not 'most kids' and I was ecstatic. I only had one day to go and I couldn't wait. We were only going to be meeting for an hour and a half, possibly two hours, but I still couldn't wait. The studious part of me would say it's because I would finally be learning something and would able to actually pay attention in class and be able to do my assignments without thinking I'm a failure. Another part of me was just happy that would be spending some time with Senorita Lopez, which would be cool considering how awesome she is. But in a non-creepy way of course. Friday morning I walked into school with a beaming smile on my face with the excitement of being able to actually understand my Spanish class and get myself back on track of being an A Grade student, like my father was always telling (pressuring) me to be. In my hand I was holding my newly highlighted and decorated timetable Senorita Lopez had drawn up and I was walking to my locker to pin it up. In my opinion nothing could be wrong that day because I was finally taking control of my learning and was no longer going to be at the bottom of the Spanish Class Food Chain where I had been all semester long so far.

"Why the beaming smile?" I heard over my shoulder and smiled even more. As I turned to face Rachel, I practically bounced with excitement. "You, Miss Rachel Berry, are looking at a new woman." Her eyebrows rose at my slightly weird expression, but her beaming smile also remained, giving me the excuse to carry on talking. "I finally asked Senorita Lopez for some help with my Spanish and I'll no longer be a flunk in that class!" Somehow Rachel's smile grew wider, clearly happy that I wouldn't need to take her notes and ask her for help any more, but at the same time her eyes dulled slightly. "You could have asked me to be your tutor Quinn," she said, her voice deflecting ever so slightly. Giving her a small smile, I shrugged my shoulders at her; "I couldn't have asked you to tutor me Rach," I jutted my head over to a row of lockers, indicating someone was there, "What about Finn? You'd have to share your time between me and him." At the mention of her boyfriend Rachel nodded her head in understanding, but then, when the bell rang, she began to walk away and put her hand on my shoulder; "I wouldn't mind sharing myself for you, Quinn. You're my friend and you're important to me." Shrugging once more, she shot me another smile and said that she would see me later. Even though her gesture and her words were purely innocent, a shiver ran through my body and I suddenly wanted to…I don't know…hold her? She was too far away from me to just bring her back to me and give her a friendly goodbye hug and that feeling stayed with me for the rest of the day.

Starting off my day thinking nothing could ruin it, to now wishing I could start it again was not how I wanted the day before I spent a few hours with Senorita Lopez to go. My smile had been so fixed to my face in the morning I could have sworn nothing could have changed it, but then I saw Rachel and her hand and her words had changed that. Also, I knew that it wouldn't change back because at lunchtime, I saw Sam standing at my locker reading a book on Star Trek. Ever since his little altercation with Puck, he's been trying to 'claim me' as his own; wrapping his arm tightly around my shoulder and walking me to and from class sometimes. If it were any other situation – like because he actually wanted to be a gentleman – then it would be chivalrous and would have loved it. The fact that he was only doing it because it meant he was showing to everyone (namely Puck) that I was taken, made me feel like a toy or an object. That may have been the feminist reading I had been doing in a class talking, but it was true and I hated it.

"Hey Quinn!" He called, seeing me when he looked up from his book. Sighing in a slight growl, I plastered my face with a grin and bounded over to him in a far too eager way. "Hey Sam," I called back and was immediately met by his lips on mine. That was a problem with Sam; he never waited for me to stand still. It was like my lips were his lips' landing ground and he assumed he always had permission to land on them. Another problem he had was that his mouth contained a lot of saliva and I was finding it harder and hard to create discreet ways of wiping away the excess saliva he left on my lips. Still, when he let me go, I pretended to put my hair behind my ears when in actual fact I was wiping my mouth with my cardigan. He was still smiling at me, so I guessed he hadn't noticed. "I want to take you out on a date," he said bluntly, not even asking me, just telling me. "Shall I pick you up Saturday at six and we can go watch a movie?" I swore movies were the only dates boys went on because it meant they could try and grope their girlfriends and think it is okay because it's in the dark and no one could know. Ugh it annoyed me. Still, I smiled and nodded my head, accepting his request for a date. Then, he stole another taste of my lips and then bounded off when he saw some guys from the football team. I was left, once again, wiping my mouth and for some reason daydreaming; wishing I was going on a date with someone else. Who, I wasn't quite sure, but I was thinking about it for the rest of the day.

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

After school I had stopped by the grocery store. It wasn't like we were in need of food, but I had to make things up to Brittany and what better way to at least try and break the ice by making her all of her favourite foods? My mother had always told me – and I'm sure a lot of other mothers told their daughters the same mantra – that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. With Brittany that wasn't entirely true, but what with the energetic classes she had started to teach and the completion of the studio, I knew my wife had been exhausted. What better way really to soothe her body than giving her all her favourite foods and to further soothe her than giving her an evening of bubble baths and massages. Even though I had a tonne of papers to grade, I didn't care. All I cared about was making Brittany feel better.

Stopping by the fishmonger in a hurry, I asked for his biggest, best shrimp and asked him to do whatever it was they did to make sure we didn't get sick. The last thing I wanted was for Brittany to get sick. I had heard that some kids who had eaten shrimp at that Breadstix place had gotten sick, luckily for us, Brittany hadn't but I wanted to be extra careful. Next I stopped by this bakery and got them to bake this gooey chocolate truffle cake Brittany loved. It was the cake she wanted to eat for our wedding, but I told her that it wouldn't be good if she spilled some on her dress. Instead we fed it to (and off) each other during our honeymoon. It was a very specific cake and during my lunch break I had paid the company that made the cake ten dollars just to give me the recipe. It may not have sounded like a lot, but I was desperate and pulled out every trick I had in the book: begging, pleading, and threatening, then in the end just handing them money. I spent a good part of half an hour arguing with the manager of the bakery, begging for them to make this cake on such short notice. Finally they agreed (after I had flashed a Grant at them) and they made the cake for me. It would be delivered to our house, complete with hot chocolate truffle sauce and it would perfect our evening.

At home I had the shrimp and the special sauce that went with it to make some sort of shrimp cocktail – because that would always be Brittany's favourite meal food – and was waiting for the cake. For the main dish of our dinner, I made Brittany's absolute favourite: spaghetti and meatballs. Brittany loved that dish purely so she could push one of the meatballs over to me to eat with her nose and so we could suck up the same piece of spaghetti and have our lips meet in the middle. Sure, having shrimp, spaghetti and meatballs followed by a chocolate cake wasn't the best dinner in the world, but this wasn't just any dinner. This was a dinner specifically for Brittany. It was all her favourite foods in one sit down session and I just prayed that everything would go okay. I really had to make things up to Brittany and, sure one fancy dinner wouldn't sort everything but it was a start. It would show I'm trying.

Just as I was about sit down after 'slaving' away over the stove I heard the familiar sound of the key turning in the lock of the front door and the even more familiar sound of my glorious wife sighing and heaving her things down in the hall. A bright smile appeared on my face and I just hoped that my efforts would be enough to put a smile on her face too. Like an excited puppy, I ran from the kitchen and into the hall before Brittany had time to go upstairs and shower. "Hey Britt," I called out, for some reason a little breathlessly and waited for her to turn around before I did a funny little bow – that she loves – and announced; "I've made you a special dinner and I'd really love it if you'd accompany me in the dining room." On my face I wore a huge smile but slowly it began to fade when I noticed she wasn't smiling back. In fact, she looked not only tired but exhausted and she also looked angry. Trying to make her comfortable I started to stutter, thinking it would make things better, "If you don't want to eat in the dining room because of what happened last night, we can eat on the couch?" Thinking that would work, I gave her a slightly smaller smile, but to my surprise it didn't. Thinking that perhaps changing from a formal setting to a more comfortable one would make her send me a beautiful smile, I said it but she continued to look at me with dull eyes and a slightly curled up lip.

The tension in our hall was getting very heavy and I was glad that the doorbell rang. I let out a little sigh but stayed smiling at Brittany. Carefully I moved passed her and went to the door, knowing full well who it was. Getting the cake took less than two seconds; literally ripping it from the delivery guy's hands and then slamming the door in his face. It might not have even been a guy. For all I knew it was trained monkey they'd hired just deliver this special cake. I didn't look at them, just opened the door, took the cake and slammed the door in their face. I didn't care if they groaned or owed or something: I had much more important things to be interested in than some delivery person's broken nose caused by me slamming the door in their face. With the square cake box in my hands, I turned back to Brittany. Looking at her I could see she looked intrigued as to what had been delivered. And why it smelt so good. Holding the little box up, like in 'The Lion King' when baby Simba is being presented to everyone, I sheepishly smiled at her once more. "For dessert I thought we could have chocolate truffle cake because I know it's your favourite." Telling her I had specially ordered her favourite cake I hoped that she would have smiled. However my quiet, almost bashful voice and gleaming eyes didn't do anything. Neither did opening the lid of the box when I saw her expression remain fixed and frozen. Again the tension became heavy and I really just wanted her to smile at me. My own smile was beginning to feel fake, and I never gave her a fake smile. She deserved the real, authentic things and smiles were at the top of the list. Instead of me receiving her glorious sunshine smile she sighed mumbling a "Fine" and made her way through to the dining room, me following behind her, still like the excitable puppy.

The way she walked into our dimly lit dining room; arms crossed, shoulders back and head held back, reminded me of a queen. To me she would always be my queen, and at this moment I was nothing more than her loyal servant. Tired blue eyes scanned the table. The shrimp was already in the glass bowls – hers were of course bigger and juicier than mine – and two glasses of red wine were already poured. She may have also noticed that I had taken out our wedding china that Brittany's grandparents insisted they get us. I remembered the argument well. We were at their house, sat on their couches, and telling them of our wedding plans. Brittany's grandma couldn't stop the joyous tears from overflowing and the delightful gasps that came rushing out of her mouth at each detail we told them. At some point during the talk, Brittany's grandfather had left the room and then came back with a white box tied with a white bow. Once Brittany had noticed she ripped off the bow and opened the box like a six year old on Christmas morning. Her eyes widened and she slowly raised her head to look at her grandparents. One of their gifts for us was their very own wedding china; a light blue almost white with tiny lilac flowers painted on china set. The argument that followed the revealing of such special china made me laugh. Brittany refused to take something so special, her grandmother arguing that she had wanted to give it to her since she first saw her granddaughter gazing up at it wanting to use it for a tea party for her teddy bears' own wedding.

Once Brittany's eyes adjusted to the light, she saw the china. She stopped by her seat and asked in an emotionless voice; "Our wedding china?" At first I wasn't sure if she was questioning it or merely stating a fact that yes, I had used our wedding china for this important dinner. Even though she couldn't see me I nodded my head and then squeaked out; "Yes". Heaving a sarcastic breath, she moved the chair out from under the table and said, "Whatever you have to say must be important." At her words I gulped. At her action of not letting me take her chair out for her and push her in – like I usually would – make me slightly doubtful of our evening. Again, she waited for me to make my move. Her arms were still crossed and when she saw me sit down at the head of the table – with her sat to my left – she raised her eyebrow at me. This particular gesture made me stop breathing. Brittany, my darling Brittany, never raised her eyebrow at me. Gulping once more I raised my glass with a slightly shaking hand and held it out to her. Still she stared at me with her raised eyebrow. After a while I knew she wasn't going to chink my glass and so I put my own down and stared into it. I'd always loved the colour of red wine; how beautiful the aroma was and how rich the colour seemed to be, especially in the dark. It almost looked black, and yet even in the darkest of rooms or settings, you could still see the hint of red that told you it was wine. At this moment though, all I could see was blood. I could still feel Brittany's eyes on me and I could practically feel the tension in her jaw as she grounded her teeth together.

With me staring into my wine for who knows how long, after some time I eventually heard Brittany move. She had dragged her shrimp bowl closer to herself and was now eating it, scooping up the sauce with a spoon and eating just that, like ice cream. Feeling I had permission to look at her, I turned my head back to her. Her eyes were focused on her food. Her mouth was chomping and her hands were working fast. I knew she was trying to eat as quickly as possible and without looking at me for as much as she could. Still I couldn't speak. I knew I should be speaking but I couldn't. As soon as the last of the sauce was gone, so would she and I couldn't let that happen. And yet, moments later her spoon was basically thrown into the bowl, her arms were folded across her chest again and her eyes were scowling at me. Anger was rising through her. I could see it. Her chest was heaving in a way I rarely ever saw with her. She was my bubbly, beautiful queen who was still human. Of course she could get angry but the last time I really saw her angry was when she saw a man kick his dog in the park for no apparent reason. Blindly she had stormed over to him, with me trying to hold her back by her belt loops, and had yelled at him to never harm an animal again. I was terrified that she was going to get hurt and so, just as the man was about to possibly do something to her, I used all the strength I had locked away from my cheerleading days and picked her up, swung her over my shoulder fireman style and ran away with her. For the rest of the day she was either cursing men that hurt animals or crying for the poor creatures. Now I wished we had just watched a documentary on whale hunting or the cruelties of old time circuses because the Medusa glare she was giving me now made me want to beg for forgiveness for every cruel thing.

Blue and brown eyes were fixed on each other. The silence of the house was starting to scare me but nowhere near as much as her laser eyes were. Gulping once again, I finally took a breath and tried to smile at her. "Did you enjoy your starter?" As soon as I asked the question I knew that there was a serious case of déjà vu hanging in the air. She had asked me a similar question and I knew that she was not pleased with me asking it: especially because she ground her teeth once again. A grunt was my reply and just as I was about to stand to remove the bowls, she stood for me. Like a lady-in-waiting I stood too, but like a frightful lover (which is what I was) I reached for her shoulder and pleaded; "Please Brittany." Her skin was like electricity under my fingertips. She had paused her movements but with my gentle hand on her shoulder and the begging look in my eyes, she lowered herself back into her seat. Her arms didn't cross, instead she laid them in her lap but her head stared into the flickering light of the candles. My hand was still touching her shoulder and with her sat in her seat, I didn't want to let go.

Thinking now was as good a time as any other, I moved behind her and caressed her shoulder, her upper arm and then her neck. She didn't shiver and so I did it again, purely because I needed to touch her. I brought my other hand to her other shoulder and my fingertips were dancing over her hot skin. She was sweaty but it was pleasant – it just showed how hard she had been working. Cupping her shoulders I then began to give her a massage. As soon as the pressure was met near her neck, I felt her relax by a percentage. She was tense. I knew that. My fingers and hands and shoulders worked away at her taught shoulders and neck and I tried to release all the stress and strain she was feeling. Neither of us spoke, of course. For a moment it was as if there was no tension in the air, only in my wife's shoulders. As the knots were loosened and the tension eased, I licked my lips and lowered my head. Normally when I massage her, I press my lips to her head and then work my way to her cheek and down her neck crossing to her shoulders and repeating the process until Brittany wanted my lips on her own. This time however, I was given a reaction I never would have imagined. I'd rather she'd slapped me than what she did. Just as I lowered my lips to her shoulder she pushed herself off the chair and practically ran to the other side of the room.

The chair she had been sitting on was flung to the ground and I even gasped in fright at how quickly everything happened. One minuet she was sat on the chair receiving a massage and the next she was pointing at me and showering rage down onto me. "Don't you dare!" She screamed at me, already tears gushing down her cheeks. Had she been crying during my massage? Had she been crying all along? Had she just had enough of keeping them inside? My mouth opened but no intelligible sound came out. Instead, she screamed back at me; "Don't you dare think that giving me shrimp and a massage is going to make me feel better and how dare you try to kiss me like nothing's happened!" I wanted to protest. I wanted to argue that I wasn't trying to erase anything or make things less significant, I was just…what was I trying to do? Was I trying to make her talk? Was I trying to make her agree with my point of things? Was I just trying to distract her? Again I couldn't speak. Not just with the fear of what would happen if I did say anything, but because the tears falling from my own eyes was making it impossible for me to utter anything. Before Brittany stormed out of the room, she stomped over to me and pushed herself right up in my personal space. If I thought I was frightened before, I was completely wrong. Never in all the long years that I had known this angel, had I seen her like this. Physically I was shaking and I swore I was either going to wet my pants or fall to the ground. With her finger pointing at me and her eyes staring right into mine, she breathed out her final sentence to me that night; "Don't you dare think I will forget. I need my space." As soon as the sound had stopped echoing around the room, she turned on her heel – her ponytail slapping me in the face – and she stormed up the stairs.

Our dinner was forgotten, but the feelings and situation was definitely not and for the first time in our married lives, we sobbed ourselves to sleep: Brittany in our bed, alone, and me in our spare room, alone.

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

Excitement didn't quite convey all the feelings I had. Here I was, sat in the coffee shop with my Spanish books and pencil case and two steaming mugs of coffee, waiting for my gorgeous Spanish teacher to tutor me. I must admit, it took me a while to actually leave the house, considering I had no idea what to wear. Did I wear what I usually wore for school or did I wear one of my more formal dresses? Either way, I would turn up in a dress because of my mother and father but…what if I didn't? It was a Saturday and usually kids wore whatever they wanted on the weekends: some just wore sports uniforms or pyjamas. What did I wear? A slightly more 'posh' version of what I wore during the week. Well, not today, because today I snuck out of the house in jeans. Jeans! Senorita Lopez had never seen me in jeans – no one here had seen me in jeans – and she would probably be surprised. Just thinking of what I was going to wear made me think of what she would wear. Being a teacher she had to dress smart for school, but this wasn't school. This was a coffee shop on a Saturday. She too could wear whatever she wanted! A part of me still wanted to see her wear her tight pencil skirts, silk blouses, killer high heels and a pair of sexy black rimmed glasses, topping it all off with flowing locks of raven dark hair. Of course, the reality was quite different. I doubt it was just me, but as soon as she walked in, it was like flashes and light bulbs from paparazzi cameras were going off, a fan was put in front of her face and a red carpet was laid out for her. Even in simple dark skinny jeans, knee high black boots, a striped black and white t-shirt, black jacket and green scarf wrapped around her neck; she looked like a goddess or a model. She was just stunning. She may not have worn her school clothes, but at least her hair was down and she did have her glasses. Two out of whatever wasn't too bad. Plus, these jeans really showed what an amazing, to die for figure she had.

Oh to be a grown up woman!

"Senorita Lopez!" I called out, standing and waving her over. At the counter she caught my eye and saw that I had already bought her a cup of coffee. With a smirk she walked – no, swayed – over to me and sat herself down. "You know you shouldn't have bought me that, Quinn." She said, although she picked up the sill hot coffee anyway and took a long, satisfying sip. With a more than satisfied sigh, Senorita Lopez lowered the cup from her lips and set it on the table. "That was exactly what I needed," she sighed, a relaxed smile appearing on her face. Seeing her smile made me smile too and I have to admit I felt a little giddy knowing that I was the one who made her smile. Well, I bought her the coffee so it was me. "I really love coffee too," I told her, picking up my own cup and bringing it to my lips, "I need it like oxygen!" Senorita Lopez chuckled and shook her head, leaning slightly to get her own book and pen. "I like that sentence," she told me, opening her Spanish flag decorated notebook. She scribbled down something and then her dark eyes locked on me. "Repetir por favour," she told me and my eyes widened. She chuckled again, shaking her head and I was really starting to like this little laugh. "Don't worry Quinn," she said, putting her pen down and taking her glasses off her face. I wondered if she wore them a lot, or only in certain situations. Maybe she drove here so she only wears them for driving. "Let's just talk first and then we'll get onto the Espanol."

Nodding my head like a little donkey, I beamed at her and finished taking my own sip. As soon as the cup was placed on the wooden table we were sat at, she began to laugh again. This time it was different and I frowned at her. It was louder and yet she was trying to conceal it. Once she saw my expression, she pointed at me and I suddenly blushed; she was laughing at me? Shaking her head Senorita Lopez then picked up her napkin and moved her finger in a fast 'come here' motion. Cautiously I moved my head even though what was going inside my head was crazy; why did she want me to go to her? Did she find me cute and wanted to whisper it in my ear? Was she going to kiss me? Just as I was about to protest, the napkin was swiped across my top lip and I realised why she was laughing. "You had cream on your face, it was adorable but I had to get rid of it!" She said, trying to calm her laughs. Now knowing what it was she was doing I sighed and relaxed back into my chair. Thank goodness that was all; I think I would have become really confused with where our boundaries lay!

For a little while we sat there in a calming silence, both of us taking sips of our coffee and looking at each other. I guess to an outsider – who knew either one of us – it would look pretty strange, a teenage girl and an older woman, a student and her teacher, sitting together over coffee in such a public setting. But for us, it was great. Not only was it a chance for me to finally learn some things, it gave me time to prepare for tonight. Before I could ruin this meeting with me being grumpy, I beamed at Senorita Lopez; "It's weird seeing us both in regular clothes, huh?" I knew it wasn't the best topic starter, but it was something. Senorita Lopez looked down at herself, as if to check that yes, she was in fact wearing 'regular' clothes. Chuckling her beautiful little laugh she nodded her head. "You're right. It's nice to be out of those tight pencil skirts and irritating blouses." The confession that she didn't like them struck me. I loved those outfits! Sure, I would pick jeans and a t-shirt over my usual clothes any day, but Senorita Lopez just looked so…good in her work attire. "I like what you wear," I blurted and even though I couldn't believe I had just admitted it out loud, I still continued by saying; "I think you look kind of sexy in them."

A part of me died once I heard what I had just said. I couldn't believe I had just told my teacher that I thought she looked sexy. As soon as I registered I had said what I had said, I looked down at my lap and found my fingers to be way more interesting. I couldn't see her but I knew she was looking at me and deciding what to make of what I just said. If I were her, I would have picked up my stuff and left. I wouldn't have even made pleasantries and excuses; I would have simply got up and gone straight to the principle. Calling my teacher – my female teacher – sexy would not go down well. I bet she thought I had some weird crush on her or something. Which I don't! I guess I could just brush it off as me complimenting her and comparing her. Yeah, I mean, girls did that all the time. I guess I could just tell her it in a joke way. Explain that I was merely meaning it as a…well it was a compliment but…oh no! Why did I do that? Then I saw a hand wave in front of my eyes and I snapped my head back up to look at her.

She was looking at me with that same smile she gave me when I asked her to be my tutor. That instantly relaxed me, but what made me relax even more was the fact she said; "You look very pretty in your dresses too Quinn." I knew what she was doing. She was trying to make me feel better by the fact I had just done something humiliating and could possibly be considered inappropriate. Shrugging my shoulders I mumbled that I prefer to wear jeans and t-shirts. "Why don't you wear them at school then?" She asked me and I explained that my parents didn't like me wearing jeans. "The mostly think women should wear skirts and dresses and men should wear pants. They also want me to continue looking the part of a Fabray." She frowned at this and asked what I meant. Sighing I carried on explaining; "The Fabrays have an image to maintain." I heard her scoff and she shook her head as she folded her arms. "You're not a brand, you're family. You should be allowed to do and wear whatever you want!" Giving her a quiet smile I thanked her and then took the last sip of my drink. After that, Senorita Lopez got up and went to grab us two muffins; "To give us brain food before we began learning the beautiful language of Espanol."

And I'm only slightly afraid to admit that I enjoyed watching her swish her hips as she made her way to the counter.

What I did not enjoy was the date I went on with Sam. As promised he picked me up and then he drove me to his house so we could eat dinner with his family and then watch a movie. The dinner with his family was, as usual, very polite and proper. His family are almost exactly like mine, only with slightly more noise due to his younger brother and little sister making a small racquet. His mother and I were dressed almost identically in floral dresses and hairbands and Sam's little sister, Ruth, was dressed in a slightly cuter version. At least her socks were frilly and her hair was in pigtails. I couldn't remember the last time I wore pigtails. As per usual we all said grace and ate in a slightly more comfortable atmosphere than at my own house. I guess it was only slightly more comfortable because Ruth was doing a lot of talking. She was constantly asking me questions: "Will I ever be as pretty as you when I grow up?" "I like dolphins, do you like dolphins?" "Have you ever gone to the moon?" I enjoyed our innocent conversations; they distracted me from what was going to happen once dinner was over.

Amazingly, Sam and I were allowed to go up to his room without adult supervision. At my house, my parents would probably take it in turns in deciding who stood outside my room. It amazed me because although my father was just really religious, Sam's father was the head of our church! He was the man who preached to us every Sunday! Still, I guess him and my father an 'understanding' or some creepy 'arrangement'. It made me think that we were secretly betrothed to each other. I guess that's why my father told me he wouldn't mind if I had…relations…with Sam before marriage. But no way would I, I mean, not with his parents and siblings in the house. Still we got to his room and Sam asked me what movie I wanted to watch. Well, I really didn't care and I knew all I would be thinking about was Senorita Lopez. What I learnt from her today.

At some point during the movie, Sam tried to make conversation. First it was just general talk about the movie but then it moved on to school and finally with dinner. He had somehow moved along his bed and was now sitting right next to me; our covered thighs pressing together. It suddenly felt quite warm and I realised Sam now hand his hand on my thigh. Swallowing the water that had gradually built up inside my mouth, I turned my head and looked him in the eye. He was smiling at me with a lopsided yet kind of adorable smile. His eyes were soft and I could just see that he was falling in love with me. "I think you're really awesome with Ruth," he told me quietly, sweetness and sincerity dripping from his voice I couldn't help but smile back. Soon the noise and glow of the movie was becoming fuzzy and forgotten. "She's a really great little girl," I told him back and taking a hesitant breath, my eyes flickering down momentarily, "She's obviously taken her brilliance from you." At my compliment, Sam beamed and squeezed my thigh. At the movement, I felt a shiver run up my body. Carefully, but keeping his charm, he leaned in and whispered; "She'll get more awesomeness from you," his other hand then came up and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, "Just imagine if we combined our awesome brilliance together."

My face flushed warm and I knew what was coming next. It was like a moment from a movie; everything in slow motion. All I could hear were our breaths mixing together as we turned our heads together. My eyes closed as soon as I smelled his cologne and he put his arms around me once our lips touched. The kiss was sweet and quick making a light pop, but then we kissed again and again, now we turned our heads and I thought I should do something with my hands. I put them on his waist, but felt that was a masculine action and so I dragged them up his sides and wrapped them around his neck, effectively pulling him closer into me. The touch of my hands gliding up his sides must have made him shiver because I felt him gasp quietly into my mouth. Once my arms were wrapped around his neck and he was brought in closer to me, he moved his own hands to rest more on my hips. Feeling him on my ticklish waist now made me mirror his gasp; however he took it one step further. My mouth opened slightly and he took this as an opportunity to put his tongue inside my mouth. The feel and taste of his tongue, the new heat of it, gave me such a surprise that my eyes flew open and I tried to break away. Unfortunately, Sam didn't realise I wanted to stop and set some sort of boundary. With a slight growl – which I don't think he realised he made – and pushed me down onto the pillows.

My senses were in overdrive. I could smell him and I could hear our kisses smacking against each other. But the one thing I really suddenly froze at was what I felt. He was obviously more excited than me because I felt, sticking into me, a part of him that made me frightened. My arms began a million times stronger than they have ever been and my hands gripped at his shoulders. I gripped as hard as I could and gave him a huge push. Like a catapult he flung back and I sat up as quickly as I could, fixing my dress. Before he had a chance to ask what was wrong I bolted and ignored his confused and curious calls to come back.

Like a little girl I ran down the stairs and held my sobs in. His mother came out of the living room with Ruth and the little girl pointed at me and cried out; "Quinn's crying! She needs candy!" Of course the innocence of her made me cry harder. I could hear Sam's mom calling out to me but I didn't care. Because Sam had picked me up, my only option was to run and so I did. I ran and ran, tears pouring down my face. My stomach was hurting, my breath was making my chest hurt and my eyes were stinging and blurry but I didn't care. All I wanted was to curl up in my bed and cry. What was I crying about? I was just scared. Scared and confused. Guys did that all the time, so why didn't I like it? Why did I run? Why was I now wishing I had been making out with someone else? Someone else who wasn't a guy…?


	7. Chapter Six: Getting Harder

**Mi Vida...Not So Loca**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**Getting Harder**

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

Throughout history, there have been days that have been particularly horrible; the day that Pearl Harbour got completely pummelled by the Japanese, the day that Chernobyl blew up and when Hiroshima got burned to the ground, the day the tsunami in South Asia hit and the day where a mad man decided to go into a school and start shooting everyone. For me, the weekend where I was supposed to make amends with my wife was worse than all those dreadful, dark days in history put together and times by a billion. For that whole two day weekend, I wasn't so much walking on eggshells, more like walking on minefields.

Awaking that Saturday morning was horrible. I felt sick as soon as I was pulled from my hazy dream and groaned once I felt the different sheets I had tangled myself up in and the cool air that surrounded me. Normally Saturdays are our favourite days. We stretch and groan but then tangle our limbs together with lazy, Saturday induced grins because we realise we don't have to get up so early and we can have a little longer snuggle time. We don't care about morning breath or bed head. All we care about is seeing each other from being 'apart' for so long during the night. Usually we wake up in each other's arms (or at least Brittany manoeuvres herself into my arms and rests her head on my chest so it appears that we had been connected all that time) and whisper "Good morning sweetheart" to each other and further whisper our dreams to each other, pressing chaste kisses to our lips and then holding ourselves pressed close together; our fingers running along our arms and sending relaxing shivers through our bodies. My favourite thing about Saturday morning waking up is that I can run my fingers through Brittany's mermaid golden hair and I can make her purr softly in comfort and delight as she holds herself to me like a koala to a tree as she listens to my heartbeat. I think that is the most intimate one can be: listening to someone's heartbeat. She tells me often how my heartbeat is one of her most favourite sounds. In fact she told me one Saturday morning her top five favourite sounds: my bunged up voice when I have a cold, my singing voice, my happy laugh, the sigh I make when I come down from my orgasm induced high and my heartbeat. When she told me her list, I couldn't do anything but stop running my fingers through her hair and smother her lips in kisses.

Saturday morning without Brittany next to me was the worst thing in the world. I didn't even bother stretching on the mattress. I sat up and kicked the sheets off me, pressed my hands to my face and yelled. It was deep man-ish bellow and afterwards my throat hurt, but I didn't care. I needed to release the tension built up inside my chest. I had to do something before I made things worse. And yet, screaming into my hands didn't help as much as I thought it would. Screaming into a pillow helps but my hands actually gripped my cheeks, my nails scratched my face and my fingertips pressed down hard onto my cheekbones. The tension in my chest was still there but at least some of my rage had gone. I still felt angry with myself but at least I wasn't likely to yell at Brittany now. Not that I would on purpose. The only time I've ever yelled at her was when we were in high school. She cried so hard. Her face was red and her eyes were blotchy, the tears streamed so quickly I couldn't help but want to cry myself. I never wanted to make her cry again. She told me during her fit of tears that she couldn't handle it when people yelled at her; it only made things worse. Now I knew what she meant. With her yelling at me the previous night, I felt like the world's worst human being. Before I thought that the calmer and more composed you were when you yelled it would be scarier, but now being on the receiving end of such rage, I knew that it really wasn't always the case.

Trudging across the landing to our bedroom, I tried to think of what to do. I couldn't stand being by myself anymore and it had only been a few hours. One sleeping night and I missed her terribly. I knew that Brittany was mad – more than mad – at me, but I had to know if she missed me too. What was there I could do to make her happy? A part of me knew I should have just left her a little longer, but I longed for her. I needed to know if she was okay. Of course emotionally I knew she wasn't okay, but physically I had to know. Did she have a headache, like I did, because she had been crying so much? Did she have a stomach ache from all the emotions swirling inside of her? Had she – God forbid - hurt herself because she was upset? Brittany wasn't the type to hurt herself when she's sad, but was an emotional girl. Woman. Unlike me who spent her whole life showing no emotions at all and only now that I'm married to my soul mate do I let down the screens more, Brittany has always showed the world how she was feeling and what she was thinking. Growing up she was such a bubbly, happy, carefree girl she would usually just be smiling. Most people would say they never saw her without a smile or wearing brightly coloured (and sometimes weird) clothes. Of course I knew Brittany did have more than one emotion (extreme happiness) just like she was the only one who saw my true emotions. When Brittany was sad, it felt like the whole world was grey and empty. Walking across that landing from one room to the other, I knew the snow was melting in the world, the animals were fighting, the flowers stopped blooming and the wind stopped blowing. I didn't need to go inside to know that the air behind the door was thick and heavy with sadness; I could feel it.

Twisting the knob anyway I let myself in and peeked at the woman I loved so much. Sat legs crossed on top of our bed, scowling at the door. Growling silently at me. True to what I thought, her eyes were puffy and red. Her cheeks had the clearest, thickest tear track marks I had ever seen and the room felt like a different planet. Gulping I tried to step into the room but as soon as I moved, like a deer in the wild, Brittany sprung off the bed and went into the adjoining bathroom, slamming the door shut and twisting the lock with such a forceful flick I was sure it had fallen off. For the rest of the day we went our separate ways; I saw Quinn and she taught her dance classes. It was nice seeing Quinn. She gave me a break from the tension in the house. I had tried to do grading but couldn't concentrate. The house was way too quiet. Brittany had been occupying herself in our room whilst I stayed in the living room, trying to still my anxious beating heart: this was one rhythm I knew Brittany would not want to listen to. That evening was just as torturous as the day. Brittany didn't come home from the studio until late and I slept in the spare room once again. As I did Sunday evening and probably would for the next few days.

_Quinn Fabray:_

* * *

Lying in my bed, I hear the clock ticking. I may have referenced that from a song, but it was exactly what I did Friday night once I got home from Sam's. In fact, for the whole weekend I just lay in my bed and listened to my clock ticking away, letting me know that the world was still out there and that I wasn't stuck in my own confused misery. Each tick told me that the world was spinning and that the day was passing and it wouldn't be long until I felt better. Actually, I wasn't sure about the last one. All I could think about was how confused my mind was. It was like taking a month out of school and then trying to do all of your classes all at once. My head felt heavy and fuzzy and every time I closed my eyes to try and rid myself of the clouded confusion, more would pour in. With my open or closed my brain was just haunted by visions and plagued by words and voices. Two things were playing round and round like a spinning top. The same two things that had caused me to run home crying from Sam's in the first place: why did I not like being kissed and touched by Sam and why did I wish it was someone else? Actually, why did I wish it was Rachel?

For the rest of Friday night, I just cried. I locked myself in my room and cried. Flung myself onto my bed and cried. Crying seemed to be the best thing to do. I didn't care if my mom was stood outside my door, banging and rattling the door handle to get inside, tapping softly and cooing at me to either come out or let her in so we could talk. Talk. How could I talk to my mom about this? How could I talk to her about me not enjoying kissing Sam, because I'm thinking about kissing someone else? She'd probably smile softly (but still slightly disappointedly) at that and put her hand on my shoulder to tell me it was okay if I didn't like Sam 'that way'. But what she wouldn't understand or even bother to listen to would be the reason why I didn't like Sam 'that way'. There was absolutely no way I could tell her the truth. If she pressed me on whom it was I was really thinking of kissing, she would be disgusted. I know she would. Her back was straighten and her face would freeze. She'd either pretend that I hadn't said anything or she would brush it off as something silly or even try to blame it on my period or something! As much as I would love to agree with her by saying, "Yes, it is just my hormones" or "Yes, it is silly" but deep down, I know that it isn't hormones messing with my mind or something silly. And to even think about it terrifies me.

Friday night I had fallen asleep with damp eyes and noisy ears. Saturday morning I woke with a sore head and an aching heart. Taking a shower was the best thing I could have done. I chucked the duvet off my bed (along with a pillow and my stuffed lamb, Lila) and went to the bathroom. Turning the handle I grunted as it – and everything else – felt so laboured and hard to do. Then I stripped and got in the shower. I didn't even care if it burned my skin at first. Sure I jumped back and hissed at the scolding heat but really, I didn't care. All I cared about was a moments rest from these racing, screaming, conflicting thoughts. Of course I closed my eyes as I washed my hair and saw one face. One beautiful face. Two sensational eyes staring at me through my own darkness. I gasped but couldn't open my eyes. Instead my fingers stilled in my hair as I watched the eyes stare back at me. My shoulders shuddered and then I began to cry once again. This time, however, the tears were different. They were tears of defeat. I couldn't hide it or deny it any longer. No matter how hard or for how long I tried there was no point in trying to lie. These eyes and thoughts would not let me go until I said it out loud. But I couldn't. There was no way I could say it out loud. Not yet. So, I shook my head (failing to clear the image out of my mind) and continued my shower with my crying eyes open.

Now that I had silently admitted it to myself, I felt different. Stepping out of the shower, I felt the cold air was sharper and for the first time in my life I actually felt my nipples harden against the cold. Wrapping a towel around my body felt strange; I didn't dare look at myself in the mirror. Lucky for me, the bathroom mirror was cloudy with steam from my shower. My bedroom was a little steamy too, but that only made the mirror more inviting. Why was I reluctant to look at myself in the bathroom mirror, and yet intrigued by my bedroom mirror? A part of me thought it must have been down to hormones, but I didn't care. Even after my shower I felt funny. My head was still heavy and my skin was tingling. Usually I hate how I look once getting out of a shower. I hate how red my skin it and how green my eyes stand out. I hate how deeply I have to breathe because the air is so stuffy with steam I'm afraid I'll pass out otherwise. Yet I walked over to the full length mirror and stared at myself. My blonde hair, now a dark wet colour, dripped in two strands over my shoulders and again down my back. Because of the heat my skin was blotchy and my eyes were straining at me, but I didn't care. The towel was wrapped loosely around my chest and I could just about see it moving from where my heart was beating so much. Feeling intoxicated by the heat, steam and pure emotional turmoil, my fingers dug into the white towel knot and pulled it apart, exposing my body to me.

"So this is what the body of a confused girl looks like," Bitterly and yet ghostly I said to myself. To anyone else (who had actually seen my body of course) my body didn't look that different. I was still slim, tall, had a good figure but not overly spectacular. I still had two arms and two legs. My breasts were still round, the nipples still looking pointed and ahead, and my belly button still annoyingly poked out. My shoulders were still pulled back in the debutant way and my collar bone still stuck out slightly. Basically everything was the same, and yet I felt differently. Who knew just by saying something – or thinking of saying something – even in your head could make you feel so different. There was a stereotype of what girls who could possibly think the way I do look like and as I looked at myself, I knew there was no way I would follow the derogatory look. In fact I shuddered as I thought about it. Of course there was nothing wrong with looking like that. There were girls at school who looked like that and I bet they weren't even…confused.

The longer I stared at myself, the more I started to feel conflicted again. But not because of my thoughts on Sam and 'the other one', but on my own prejudices. I am not a prejudice person. At least I'd like to think I'm not. Even living with my parents, I know I'm not prejudice. Even though I don't want to make friends, I would make friends with a black girl or an Asian girl…heck, Rachel was Jewish! Rachel. As soon as I had thought of her name, I flared up again and turned away from the mirror. Flinging the towel away I went to grab a fresh pair of pyjamas and crawled straight back into bed; refusing to do anything but try and get rid of the thoughts once again. They screamed at me to go back to how I was before I moved here, but then they would scream again and say I've always been like this…why was everything so hard?

_Santana Lopez:_

* * *

In all my life I had never been so tired. I think it was fair to say I had truly never been so exhausted. Trying to walk into work on Monday morning pretending that I hadn't spent my weekend at home with my wife being almost completely silent and crying myself to sleep was really hard. What made it worse was I was sure everyone could tell that something had happened. I had put on a tonne of make-up to cover up the bags under my eyes and sprayed my eyes with water to try and get rid of the blood shot and cooling gel-pads to try and get rid of the puffiness that were now my eyelids. Heaving myself out of the car I sighed heavily and put myself into Senorita Lopez mode. The walk from the car to the teachers' lounge was the easy part of the day: my shoulders were back and my head was up, the clack of my heels and the swish of my hair made me feel important and carefree, but as soon as I saw all of my colleagues sat together drinking coffee and talking about their weekends, I suddenly wished I had gone to Brittany's studio and begged her to forgive me.

Even though it had only been a weekend, I missed her. I missed her kisses on my cheek or my head for when we saw each other in passing, I missed her bringing me coffee when I was working and the light shoulder squeeze. I missed her humming and wiggling around the house. Most of all, I missed her. Not just the physical contact of being wives but just her sparkle. I really missed having the eye contact, the cheeky smirks and winks, the smiles we shared throughout the day and the conversations. I missed talking to her and it had only been two days! A lot of couples don't talk. They just coarse through life with minimal conversation. Not Brittany and I. We actually talked to each other about everything; politics, celebrities, work, the world, books but my favourite thing was talking about the most random things in the world. No matter how tired either of us were we always talked to each other and I never got ratty with her by her random and totally bizarre comments. Sometimes we would be talking about something so trivial and boring – like the weather – and then all of a sudden she would jump in and tell me some random fact about some random topic. For a second I'd look at her and think "What planet are you on?" but then just one millisecond of looking into her sparkling blue eyes, I would break out into one of the world's biggest smiles and laugh. We'd then laugh and try to keep it going for as long as possible; she would always win with making me laugh the most, and I was determined to win at least one round of Laughter Game. Of course, with how badly I had hurt her, I wasn't sure if I would win it anytime soon. Or if we would even play it.

Sat with my mug cupped in my lap at the table where I usually checked my timetable and lesson plans, listening to the dull buzz of the lounge, I felt my eyes prickle thinking about how much I missed her. A part of me couldn't believe it had only been a weekend and I was feeling so bad. All couples fight, but not us. This fight felt like 'War of the Worlds', 'Taken' and 'Gladiator' all in one. We never fight and this is the worst thing that has ever happened to us. I felt like crying at how awful this whole thing is. Yet, another part of me was being so clam and assuring. It was telling me that this wasn't a big fight and things would blow over. But this was such a huge issue I knew that it would make or break us and dear God did I want it to make us stronger. I wanted her so badly to forgive me and I knew that spending the day with these teachers was not going to make me not miss her. Sure it wasn't like they had the world's happiest marriages. One grumpy math teacher was complaining yet again about how his wife was nagging him to help with the garden and take her to see her mother in Denver. Scowling at him I felt like blowing up in his face: at least his wife was interacting with him. Brittany and I had barely seen each other and the house felt cold and empty. As cliché as it sounds, Brittany is the light of the house and this World War Three argument had not only turned the light off but smashed it completely and I was fearful that this was going to be the end of us if I didn't sort it out. It was up to me to fix us.

Thank goodness for my classes. I wasn't sure what type of class I wanted the most. Both versions were great because they distracted me from my problems at home, but they distracted me in different ways. Some of the classes were just plain old mischievous. They didn't want to learn anything and were only focused on wasting the thirty minutes or hour we had together. These classes were good, because it meant I could release all the anger and tension I had built up inside of me. Sure, screaming into the palms of my hands on Saturday morning helped, but with how guilty I was feeling and how angry I was about our situation, it felt really good to be able to yell at people who didn't mean a lot (or anything) to me. As soon as they left it felt good to sit down at my desk and sigh, rolling my neck and closing my eyes as I could imagine myself yelling at Brittany to forgive me. Even though I wouldn't, a part of me felt like yelling at Brittany but I didn't deserve the right to yell. I was in the wrong and she was completely in the right. But it was still nice to just imagine it for once. The calm, hard working classes were great as well. Whilst they worked well and we peaceful, it gave me a chance to relax myself. I could imagine myself going home and trying again like I did on Friday to make things up to her. In this quiet setting of listening to the kids work through their assignments, I imagined conversations and speeches I would recite to her to make her not only forgive me but move us forward. Of course, as soon as the class would end, unlike the naughty classes, the tension would return I would still be back to how things were at the weekend: stressed and confused of how things got so out of hand – all because of me.

_Quinn Fabray:_

* * *

Just when I thought my torturous weekend of being flooded by Rachel and guilt of Sam, I had to have my heart shatter and be rebuilt in a totally different way. Lunchtime on Wednesday I was making my way to the library to read for my next class, when I stupidly made my way pas the choir room. Rachel had told me that she practices in there most days at lunch and I was welcome to join her whenever I wanted. Me not being a singer and not wanting to intrude on her precious practicing time, I always declined. This time however, I couldn't help but watch her from the window and be astounded. She was practicing a really old song that I had never heard before and even though it was only a practice, she was spellbinding. She would look and sound even better on the stage in the auditorium – or actually up on a Broadway stage where she ought to and destined to be – but the choir room would do. She was facing the empty chairs and had her CD player hooked up to the speakers on a low volume so she could hear herself. I had never heard someone belt out a ballad like that before and needless to say, my reading for the next class would not be done.

Watching her facial expressions, see her gestures as she moved her arm up to hold the note with her hand in front of her face, to hear the emotion in her voice…I couldn't move. Literally (and typically cliché) I was stuck, rooted to the spot and I wanted nothing more but to just listen and watch her perform. Her last long note had my eyes widening, my jaw dropping and my skin crawling with bumps, my limbs and back shaking with awe and as she quietened her voice for the last few lines, I couldn't breathe for fear I wouldn't hear her beautiful voice. She didn't break out of character at all. Even as the music slowed down and eventually came to a stop, she didn't break. Her gaze was fixed on her audience and I knew that she was waiting patiently – like any good diva – for their obvious, adoring applause. Instead of her just listening to it in her head (or springing back to life and practicing once more) I began to start a slow clap outside.

The sudden noise brought me her attention. Her head snapped round to the door and a huge grin broke free on her face. Because she grinned, I beamed and together we both shared and basked a private happiness. Like a child or a puppy, she bounded over to the door, grabbed my hand and squealed for me to come inside. We weren't even sat down on the chairs before she started babbling away at how long she wished I had come and watched her sing, albeit actually inside the classroom, and how she wasn't sure if her tone was quite right or pitch was up to scratch or her facial expressions were a bit odd and weren't quite conveying the emotions and the power of the song. As much as I loved listening to her – even when she was criticising herself – and watching just how passionate and enthusiastic she got when she was talking, I had to stop her and tell her just how brilliant she was.

"Rachel!" I barked with a slightly giggle. She stopped and looked at me, giving me all of her attention. Her eyes were wide and waiting for me to tell her what I thought or her practice. Her leg crossed over the other and her hands stilled themselves her lap. Her bubbly, enthusiastic face was gone and was now replaced by a waiting, patient look; waiting for the verdict. I tried to look as serious as possible. It felt a bit like we were on some talent competition show: Rachel the hopeful contestant and me the bullying judge. Although why I would be the judge is a puzzle; who am I to judge on someone's singing ability? Although it is pretty obvious Rachel is a star. She's not just a star in the making or a future star, she is a star and she doesn't know it yet. So I told her. Breaking my façade I took hold of her shoulders and beamed at her once more. "Rachel, you were, as always, insatiably perfect!" She squealed and clapped her hands and was about to speak again, but I wasn't finished. Instead of keeping her still via holding onto her shoulder, I took hold of her hands – the urge to plant a sweet kiss on those dainty hands not going unnoticed by me – and gave her a softer smile. Looking her straight in the eye, I spoke softly and told her from my heart; "Rachel, you are a star. You are a star and now you just need to let everyone know."

Instead of squealing in supersonic delight, Rachel turned her hands over, palm to palm, and linked our fingers together. She did what I wasn't brave enough to do: she picked up our entwined hands and pressed her sweeter than strawberries lips against the back of my vanilla hand and looked at me through her thick, fluttering, beautiful eyelashes. "That is the kindest, most inspirational thing anyone has ever said to me," she whispered slightly bashfully and all I could say in return in an even quieter whisper; "I mean every word." Even though I didn't want to, I knew I had to just to show how much I truly meant it, I broke free one of my hands and cupped her cheek. They were hot and I realised she must have been blushing but that just made me stroke my thumb softly at the pink skin I found there. Then, as quickly as I could, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to her forehead. After I broke away from her head, my lips still tingled and I longed to lick them. I didn't, but knew I would only be thinking about how right it felt having my lips against her skin and how right it felt for hers to be on mine.

Then, not only a few seconds of us just smiling at each other, our spell was broken, our bubble was burst, our dream was shatter. Our perfect universe came crashing down and we were brought back to reality and the voices were screaming at me once again. This time, it wasn't just my own voice, but that of my father's. And suddenly I was frightened. Since these thoughts had been yelling at me when I came home on Friday from Sam's, I had only heard my own voice. Now that my father was bellowing at me, I knew that I couldn't do this again. No matter how right or good it felt, I had to never do that again: I could never think Rachel and I could be something beautiful.

_Santana Lopez:_

* * *

Every time I came home the house was silent and almost haunting. Some days Brittany would be home before me, but sometimes she wouldn't as the weeks varied with classes. For the first two days after our horrible weekend, I barely saw Brittany. We lived separate lives for four days. Wednesday was the day where it all changed. Where I had been working in my office on some assignments I wanted to give to some of the rather lingual-gifted students in my freshman class, I heard the front door open. It was weird because I hadn't heard her come in the house at all and this therefore made me stop my fingers typing and my head turn sharply to the open door of my office. Something in me suddenly struck and I felt like someone was telling me tonight would be different; for better or worse I didn't know, but I had to. Pushing my chair back I knew I had to get down the stairs before she came up and locked herself away for the evening or stayed down there and ignore me. Rushing down the stairs I knew tonight would be different. I could feel it. Maybe this was the night where the air would be cleared and we could go back to showing how much we loved each other. I knew she loved me, she just wasn't showing it. She had every right not to obviously, but maybe tonight I would be able to break the spell that was looming over us and we could actually talk about everything that's happened.

Once down the stairs I saw that she had hung up her coat and had taken off her shoes. Her bag wasn't by the door so that must mean she was in the laundry room or in the kitchen. Like a detective or a cop in a horror movie, I wasted no time in rushing into the kitchen and there she was, my amazing wife stood basically inside the refrigerator as she looked for something to drink or eat. The nerves came back as soon as I stepped inside the room, but I didn't care. It was a now or never moment and there was no way I was passing up the opportunity to apologise and beg for forgiveness. Yes I may have been planning for days on how I could make it up to her, what I could say and do to make her look at me and talk to me and just be my wife again. But of course, like a football game or a war, one could plan and plan as much as possible but things don't necessarily go to plan. We weren't in a movie or a play and things weren't scripted and easy to follow. As soon as I saw Brittany turn around I froze and as soon as her eyes met mine I felt like running away. But I wasn't going to be a coward.

"Hi," I said, trying to be as strong as possible. There was a strange sense of déjà vu as her eyes stared into mine for a moment. But then the moment was gone. She slammed the door shut and tried to get out of the kitchen. As she passed however, I knew I had to stop her. That feeling in my stomach was growing. Tonight was the night where something was going to change; I could feel it and I had to make it true. As she passed I called her name. She ignored me and walked out of the room. She was heading for our bedroom and I couldn't let her go: if she went into our room then I wouldn't see her for the rest of the night and probably not until tomorrow either. I caught up to her just as she was about to climb the stairs. I was desperate. Where only minutes before, I was calm and ready to pour my heart out in a structured way to the love of my life I was now grasping at nothing. Grasping at hope as it slipped through my fingers like sand. My heart was beating quickly and I could hear the blood swishing in my brain and my ears and I just had to say something. She couldn't go upstairs. If she went upstairs then that would be it and who knew when I was going to get another gut feeling. Tonight was the night where something would change and we could hopefully get things back to how they were before. "Brittany please talk to me!" Her feet paused on the step and I saw her sigh. That meant something good right?

On the stairs, only three steps away, I could see her stiffen. Her whole body just went rigid and I could tell by the way her shoulders were still hunched and yet rising and falling, she was mad. Still mad. But the air felt so different. My gut feeling was telling me things would be different tonight. A small fragment of hope spoke up in the back of my mind; maybe she wasn't tense, maybe she was crying. Really, I'm not sure how her crying would be any better, but I guess that would give me the chance to comfort her. Maybe it would mean she was sorry for reacting the way she did on Friday. Maybe it would mean I could hold her; she could flop down onto me and I could hold her as she cried and told me how sorry she was for being dramatic and that, sure, we could talk more. But I knew that slither of hope wasn't worth paying even the slightest amount of interest to because as soon as I released a breath, she spun round and was giving me a terrifying look.

Her eyes were wide and frightening. Her nostrils were flaring and her fists were balled at her side. This wasn't mad Brittany, this was ferocious Brittany and I now wished, for a fleeting moment, that I had just stayed away and waited for her to come to me. "Talk?" She growled in that sarcastic way that the evil, psychotic guys in movies use. Of course Brittany wasn't evil or psychotic, she was just hurting and I had a feeling I was going to be hit harder than last time she used this kind of tone. I only hoped it would be metaphorical because my Brittany, my dazzling light, had never laid a hand on anyone before in her life and I was sure as anything she wouldn't start with me. Even though I deserved it wholeheartedly.

Like a lioness with her eyes on a kill, she stalked towards me as she came down the stairs. "You want to talk?" She asked again, slower and more deadly than before. She didn't give me a chance to reply before she started talking again. This time as she talked she began to slowly back me up against the wall. We had fantasised and role played before with us taking these kinds of steps before; like the hostage spy or the innocent girl against the vampire. But this was real and instead of being sexy, Brittany was scary. "Alright, we'll talk. We'll talk about why you've lied to me for all these years. Why you've lied to me for the last year and why you've made me think that you actually care about me." Frowning up against the wall, I didn't know what she was talking about. I had never lied to her. The only lie I had ever told, was telling her that I didn't have a crush on her when she asked me years ago back when we were kids. The heating in her house wasn't working because one of the neighbours had disconnected something that made the whole street have no power, so we were snuggled together in her bed. We must have been about eleven years old and were just starting to find out about crushes and relationships. She was holding my hand and our faces were so close together. I had wrapped my legs around her and was holding her back and pressing her up against me. "Santana," she whispered, her huge blue eyes sparkling at me in the dim moonlight, "I want to tell you a secret." She giggled and I could tell she blushed because she dipped her head. Giggling too, I scratched her back lightly with my nails. "I already know all of your secrets Brittany!" Giggling slightly louder she shook her head and beamed at me; I beamed back and waited for her. "No silly, it's a new secret," who was I to argue with that? Somehow she wriggled impossibly closer to me and whispered; "I have a crush on you!" Even at eleven years old, I knew that it wasn't right for us to be having those feelings for one another. I knew that we couldn't announce to our classmates that we were dating because I knew even then of the prejudices we would face. So when she asked, snuggling into me more, if I had a crush on her too, I shook my head. Ashamed I looked into her eyes and lied: "No Brittany, I'm sorry I don't." I don't think I had ever heard my voice so sad before and I hadn't heard hers so sad before either when she said in a deflated way; "Oh." When then broke apart and slept facing away from each other.

Needless to say, we both woke up cold and sad.

Seeing my face, Brittany huffed and pushed herself away from me. "You don't know what I'm talking about, right?" She asked, turned her head back to look at me as she walked away. Trying not to bite down on my trembling lip to show her how much I wished the last week had never happened, I shrugged my shoulder at. Again she scoffed and lifted her hand. Her ring was so beautiful and perfect, just like her. "We had always made plans to be together, Santana," she began and I knew that by the end of her talking I would have tears streaming down my face and she would have to be the one to hold me. "You had always told me that you would give me whatever I wanted. When we were twelve and at that fair our parents took us to and I wanted a candy apple and my parents said I couldn't have one, you took money out of your dad's pocket when you were giving him a hug and you bought me one. When we were seventeen and I wanted to go out on a date with you in public, you took me to that concert where our entire school would be and you made it damn clear it was a date when you kissed me when you saw the camera for the big screen was on us. When I wanted to get married near that orchard because it reminded me of a movie we once saw together, you went down there three weekends in a row and demanded they clear a spot for us." Her voice had cracked at some point during her last memory recall and I knew my tears had started way before that. She still looked so beautiful even when she cried.

Stepping forward she looked down at the carpet and sniffled; "If I could, then I would take away all of those pointless things I thought I wanted. I would have gone without that candy apple, gone without that date to the concert, gone without that kiss on the big screen, even gone without the perfect wedding." She looked up and I could see how red her eyes were getting from all the tears and once again I wanted to crumble to the floor on my knees and beg for forgiveness. But begging for forgiveness wasn't what I needed. What I needed was to let go of my fears and start being a wife. "None of that matters," she continued, solemnly, "Our wedding was perfect and our lives are perfect because we have each other and because we know what the wants in life. You knew, you always knew, that I wanted to have a baby, to have a family. I was so sure that you wanted that too." Her voice had broken into a whisper once again and this time I stood straight and took a deep breath. "I do want that Brittany," I admitted breathlessly, as even the thought of admitting just how much I wanted a family with her was causing me pain. But what was hurting me more was once again admitting once again that there was no way I could have a baby with her in this town. She was right the last time: I'm selfish and mean, but that's just the way it is.

I have to protect her first and if us waiting a few more years before we had a family was what protected her, then so be it.

For a moment she looked hopeful. I saw it in her eyes just for that fleeting moment. Her eyes flickered and a light passed through them. The hope that I had changed my mind was there in her eyes and I could see how she was picturing the next few moments if everything played out the way she wanted it. But I couldn't lie to her. I couldn't add to the lies she thought I had already told. Taking one last shuddering breath I stepped forward and put my hands in my pockets: I pure sign of defeat, reluctant giving up and ending the discussion. "Brittany I can't have a baby with you here. Maybe in a few years' time once we've made more of ourselves, like your studios have lifted off and I can go back to being a top psychiatrist or something…but not here. Not where I don't feel safe." I'm sure if I had mentioned this in the first place instead of bottling it all up, we could have talked more openly about my fears. I may be a psychiatrist and once working with a top firm dealing with all kinds of patients, but that doesn't mean I know all the answers. Sometimes you don't need a 'shrink'; you just need someone who loves you and you love back, to talk to you.

Hearing once again I wasn't going to consider having a baby with her yet – and her making the calculations that if we had it my way we wouldn't be having a baby until well into our late thirties – she deflated, sighing and muttering her new favourite phrase; "I need space." And she walked past me, up the stairs and into our bedroom to think and to cry herself to sleep yet again. I deflated too. I went to my office again and worked well into the night. I needed something to do that would stop me from crying into the spare bedroom's pillow yet again as well. I only stopped working when I remembered I was meeting with the school board the next day with a bunch of other teachers to discuss possible field trips and to see if we had any money for it. To be honest, I didn't need to go. The only place these kids could go to get some kind of Spanish practise was the bad areas of town where I knew other Latinos lived, or the actual Latino countries. Or California. But I couldn't see the school board agreeing to that. Still I went to bed empty and cold and for the first time in a long time, I remembered how I felt as an eleven year old girl; my best friend sleeping nearby with tears in her eyes to match mine and yet being too proud and too stupid to do anything about it.

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

Since Wednesday things hadn't been right. Within me, things just didn't feel right. Like a gut instinct or something. It was a climate shift. It's a weird analogy, but I imagined it was kind of how animals felt when they sensed there was a storm coming. It was their fight or flight instinct – or what we would call 'fight or flight'. Physically I knew I was fine; I didn't have a stomach-ache or a headache or anything like that, so it had to be psychological or emotional, something like that. And I knew exactly what had triggered it off: my little songstress of a best friend.

Since hearing Rachel sing, as cliché as it sounded, it was like the world suddenly stopped. When I heard her sing, everything felt like a world away. I no longer felt like a hazy girl trying to be the best for my parents, trying to be different but still the same, trying to ignore everything so I could wait for the 'one day' that was inevitable to come. When I heard Rachel sing, I felt nothing but a star. Rachel singing made me feel less like a cloud or a shadow just aimlessly wandering or being stuck being ignored and just 'being there'. Hearing Rachel sing, I felt like a star. Not a star like Rachel but an actual, important star. It's the only way I can describe it. I was a star that was fixed and important and beautiful and appreciated. I felt everything I wanted Rachel to feel. When she kissed my hand and we looked into each other's eyes as we told each other wisdom from our hearts, I felt the calmest I had ever been. But as soon as that stupid bell rang, not only did I feel like a shadowed cloud, but a rock. I was a rock that was stuck the ground and hard and scared. Low and the lowest. All I was feeling was fright and I was tense. At home I felt sick with fear my father would somehow know my secret. I couldn't look him in the eye willingly and tried to make as little conversation as possible.

In the back of my mind, I knew it was only a matter of time before he – and my mom – started asking questions on why I was so abnormally quiet, but I think for now they liked it. They liked that I wasn't constantly making remarks about the economy or the presidential elections and things that 'didn't really concern me' as my father would tell me. My dad might not be so interested in his teenage daughter, but I knew for sure my mom was. Every now and then at the dinner table she would try and strike up a conversation with her eyes, but I would just look away. They say that mothers are the last to know about their child's relationships and whatnot, but for my sake I hoped that it was my father who was the last to know about my secret. If listening to him rattle on about 'the blacks' and the 'the Hispanics' and every other 'minority' in society and how much he hated them, then I only prayed I wouldn't have to be on the receiving end of his rants. They also say that everything is different when it's your own child. You could be supportive of rights at first, but then when there is a hint of your child being in that situation, you change. For my sake again, I only hoped my family would change for the better and not stay exactly the same or worse, change but for the worse.

Meeting with Senorita Lopez on Saturday was a great break. I looked forward to her classes more because of the help I got last week, and I knew this week in school would be the same. However, our tutoring session was not what I expected. As soon as she walked in through the door, I could tell something was wrong and I suddenly felt the same sinking, sick feeling I had been feeling since Wednesday afternoon: something was wrong and I suddenly really wanted to help, as if helping her would somehow help me. She walked in through the door dressed the same as last week – casual – but what remained again was the fact she had her shades on. It was like she was trying to hide. Like a movie star; they always wore shades to hide themselves. I didn't get it until she sat down and took them off. Her eyes were the reddest I had ever seen on a person. Even when Kurt's allergies got really bad, his eyes never looked like that. They were so puffy too and it was obvious by how quickly she gulped half her coffee and then her water that she had a headache. I came to one conclusion; she had been crying, a lot.

I just hoped she couldn't tell the same thing about me. I may not have been crying, but I was definitely convinced there was some physical change about me.

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

As soon as I sat down I knew Quinn was worrying about me. I had even tried to put on more make up than usual to try and hide the bags under my eyes and the wrinkles around them. I'd even git a pimple on my cheek, something I hadn't had to deal with since high school! All the stress of home was taking its toll on me, but as long as I held out until Brittany was ready to talk to me, I would be okay. I hoped. As well as Quinn being able to see my stresses and worries, I could see hers. It was just as hard not to! She may not have looked more tired than I did, but her eyebrow was definitely more creased than usual and her eyes had the same bags as me. I realised as I gulped down some of my coffee that this little meeting was going to be less about Spanish and more about each other. As much as I didn't want it to be, I knew that it was going to be a session of me asking questions and trying to avoid hers.

Nothing had changed since Wednesday. In fact a part of me thought that maybe things had gotten worse. I don't know how they could have gotten worse but it just felt like they had. The house was still silent and dull and the heavy atmosphere was just dragging me down. I was surprised I could go to my classes and teach. I knew Brittany would be okay with dancing. She could dance through anything; physically and emotionally.

During high school, we went through a particularly rough time when my mi abuela said she didn't want anything to do with me. I had come out to my parents and, to my surprise, they were fine with it. I guess it was a parental thing; they always know about their kids before they do – or at least sometimes they did. Telling my grandmother, therefore, I thought was going to be a breeze. When I told her that I was in love with Brittany, staring by telling her who I really was, that I was a lesbian, and that the feelings had always been inside of me, to telling her that because of Brittany I knew what it was like when people talked about being in love and that I was proud to be who I was because of Brittany, that was too tired to fight with myself any more. It was one of the most emotional speeches I had ever made and I just wished I had recorded it so Brittany would be able to hear it too. I waited for my grandmother's reaction and as the time went by, a sinking feeling was telling me that she would not be as accepting. After that emotional breakdown, and suffering the trauma of being disowned, I began to lose myself. I stopped being so catty to everyone and less bitchy. Brittany, however, brought me back. Coincidentally she had been practising for a dance competition and even though we were going through something so hurtful, she didn't let it get in the way of her performances. She was what brought me back and made me realise that if someone didn't like who I was – who we were – then they didn't matter.

If only it were still the case. I guess that was partly where my fears were coming from.

With the memory of Brittany's bravery through that week and dancing her way through it, it gave me the strength to carry on with my work. Of course, this wasn't always a good thing. Because I was so lonely at home, I stayed at work for as long as possible working on assignments and planning things. Heck, I even made a miniature project for myself; I imagined that the school had a Spanish club and thought of ways to make learning the language could be not only fun, but beneficial to them in their later lives. With me being bilingual – and therefore being able to understand a little bit of French and Italian and tiny bit of Greek because of all the connections – I was able to apply to jobs where they may need people who could talk to clients and co-workers in their own language. For example, when I was working back in San Francisco, there was a large group of Mexicans working there who were suffering from PTSD due to their homes being ransacked and destroyed because of political activists who didn't think they had the right to live in America. My boss was really impressed that I was able to bring in these new clients (even though they didn't have a lot of money) and our practise actually got given an award for equality. On the powerpoint I brought in statistics about why learning Spanish was especially important to them because with the ever increasing Latino business partners making connections with white Americans, they would be able to make a lot more money if they were able to branch out. But, of course, it wasn't just the economical pros I put on my slides. Spanish is the language of love and intimacy so I had to exaggerate the fact that, for the guys especially, being able to sing a song or say romantic things to someone in Spanish was a real turn. At least, for me it used to be.

As well as making this project, I even did more research on the up and coming developments in psychiatry, considering that was my area of profession before I became a teacher. Before I changed my life for my wife. Even though we had – once up on a time ago – talked about me going back to being in the 'business' of being a psychiatrist again once Brittany's dance studios were taken off, I couldn't help but feel slightly bitter at the thought that I wouldn't be able to get inside the minds of clients for a long time. That I wouldn't be able to help people conquer their additions or come to terms with things like loss, not for at least another five years. I guess that was why Brittany was so disheartened by the fact I didn't want a baby right now. But that was going off topic. I had perfectly good reasons for not wanting to start a family. But I couldn't dwell on them. Not now. Not while I had Quinn sitting right in front of me looking like Bambi when he was trying to stand up for the first time.

Sighing I couldn't let the pretense begin. I didn't even get any books out and I even piled her own books together. She frowned slightly and looked at me with a quizzical, inquiring look. Shooting her a smug smile, I shook my head at her; "Unless you're suddenly fluent en Español, then I don't think we're going to get much practice done." She my gaze a little longer and then I saw her slump and sigh just as heavily as I had. With her eyes on the table I could see she was thinking and I waited. I didn't know who should start this conversation. The boundaries were once again blurred and confusing. Tutoring out of school was one thing, but talking about personal things was another. I knew I couldn't talk about my personal life – that was just unprofessional – but I could talk to her about hers. If she wanted to talk, that is. I couldn't push her. Could I? We'd had a few talks that were absolutely personal and private, the sex talk for one, but didn't I have duty of care to uphold? She looked so tired. And stressed. As much as she assured me that she was doing well in all her classes apart from Spanish, what if she was lying and she wasn't this brainbox she had made herself out to be. I remembered how tough school was. I wasn't a genius but I wasn't stupid; I knew I how hard school was and college work was just as tough. But if she wasn't worried about school, then she might have been stressed about something at home. She hadn't talked much about her family, other than her parents (her father especially) expected near perfect grades. Maybe the pressure from home to do well in school was what was making her so tired? Or maybe it had nothing to do with school work. Maybe she was being bullied. Being the new kid was tough, but to me she looked like someone who could handle it. Maybe I was just assuming things again. Like Brittany assumed I would want a baby right now…

Snapping myself out of my thoughts, I took another sip of coffee and made a loud satisfied sigh. Putting the mug back down on the table, I saw Quinn look up at me. Her head lifted slowly and her eyes stared at me through her long eyelashes. Even though she was almost legally an adult, she looked so young. Her face was angelic and sweet and it reminded me of Brittany – both a young one, and the present one. Bu there was something so mature about Quinn that I couldn't quite figure it out. Shoulders shrugging slightly she asked, "So what do you want to talk about?" Ah ha, she had given me leverage. This meant I was open to starting the conversation, and being the teacher, I could take a slight advantage. Leaning forward slightly, I pretended to think, tilting my head, before stating; "Why don't you tell me what's been bothering you." She reacted just as I thought she would: practically shooting back in her seat and almost scowling at me. "What are you talking about?" Her tone was defensive and I was concerned. I expected her to be a little on guard, but not so snappy. I relaxed my position a little more and decided to just be point blank: it had always worked before! "You look really stressed and tired, Quinn," I told her and saw that she shifted her eyes slightly. Now that she knew I had noticed, I dropped my tone, softening it slightly to let her know that I was completely on her side and wouldn't tell on her if there was something wrong. "I just want to know if everything's okay, and if things aren't okay I want to help you." Her head bobbed slightly as she listened to me.

At least she was listening to me and she hadn't left yet.

For a little while longer, she continued to think and I was hoping that I hadn't crossed the line I was so desperate not to cross in a bad way. I wanted to make everything as relaxed as possible. But seeing her thinking about what she possibly was going to say, was that bothering me just as much as it was probably bothering her. As far as I was aware, she probably was just uncomfortable with talking about something personal. Again, we'd had a sex talk, but that was completely accidental. This was on purpose and I really just wanted to make sure she was okay. Then she sighed and I knew that I was going to hear what was bothering her, why she looked so tired. Shrugging her shoulders once again and keeping her eyes down and hands around her mug, she spoke quietly and began to reveal her thoughts. "I guess I just," she began and then paused, recollecting once again. My fingers were gripping into the seat I was sitting on. Quinn was a tough nut to crack and I was amazed she was considering opening up to me. God knows how long it took for her to find (and then use) the courage to ask me for help with tutoring!

With her eyebrows still furrowed, she suddenly broke out of her little thinking trance and then heaved a great sigh. Practically throwing her body so she could change sitting positions, she wiped the hair out of her face and looked me dead on in the eyes. "I guess lately I've just been feeling…" Again, she was stuck on what she was trying to say, and I was trying to be encouraging; bobbing my head and widening my eyes. Again she growled and sighed at the same time, flipping her hair once again. "I guess I just feel weird, like…different and not in a good way. Like…" Stopping herself from rambling nonsense – I assumed – she bit her lip and sighed again, slumping her shoulders forward. Her head shook and I was about to ask her if she wanted to elaborate, but she continued, her finger drawing circles on the table. "I guess being different is suddenly becoming harder than I thought it would be," her eyes flickered to mine as she chanced a look at my reaction, seeing that my face was still (I hoped) calm and understanding, she went back to looking at the brownish red table we were sat at. "I have to be different though. I have to remain different to survive and yet, I don't want to be this kind of different. Being different of any kind is not as great as I thought it was going to be and…and I don't know what to do."

My eyebrows knotted together. She spoke as if she was reciting a monologue from some modern Gothic novel. She made sense but I guess only in her own mind. Her eyes were…not scowling, but were fixed on something so small I assumed she was trying to look inside her own head. Still, if she was some sort of android, I imagined beams of a powerful laser coming from her pupils and I was worried if she stared any longer she would get some sort of headache or eye strain. Gently, not caring about the boundaries any more, I placed my hand on top of hers where it was balled up into a fist by her coffee mug. Bringing my head closer to hers, I tried to get the thoughts of how this would look if one of my colleagues walked in but then decided I didn't care. Licking my lips once and clearing my throat as silently as possible I asked in a gentle tone I only ever used with Brittany; "What do you mean?" However, whatever spell she had been put under, as soon my lips were brought back together, her eyes shot up to mine and within her hazel-green orbs I saw one emotion: fear.

Suddenly her chair was flung back – reminding me yet again of Brittany – and her fist was pulled from under mine. Under breath she was mumbling something along the lines of "Nothing" and "I shouldn't have said anything" as she scrambled about trying to shove her books back in her bag. Still sat in my seat I tried to calm her down, but it was useless. I was useless. Slinging the straps of her backpack over her shoulders she looked at me, but not meeting my eyes, and shook her head.

"I…I have to go." She stuttered and ran towards the door. As soon as I saw she was about to leave, I took stood up and kicked my own chair back, calling after her; "Quinn? Quinn!" But it was too late. No matter how loudly I called after her, stood up in the middle of the damn coffee shop, or even if I ran out to her, there was no stopping her. She was spooked, like a deer in the wild, and I wasn't getting her back. I just hoped she would talk to me again. Clearly she was going through something personal and, not just as her teacher, I wanted to help her.

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

I couldn't believe what I had done. I had almost admitted my biggest secret and fear – to Senorita Lopez nonetheless! – and I was once again running away. I figured that was the kind of person I was now: a runner. Someone who ran away from their problems instead of dealing with them. And once again, I didn't care that the tears were coming hot and fast.

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

I watched Quinn walk away and couldn't believe I almost pushed her. Things were becoming clearer now, but I had to be sure. If my suspicions were correct, then I was the perfect person for her to open up to; I just had to make her see that.

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

The next week, things were different once again. It was like my emotions and hormones just couldn't decide what they wanted me to feel anymore and I was getting sick and tired of it.

Things were getting weirder and weirder; not only was I starting to feel a little disturbed, I was getting scared. I'd never been the type of girl to get random crushes on anyone before, but now I was really starting to think I knew what was going on with me. Sure I had said it in my head that I…that I liked Rachel, and that I had sort of admitted it to Senorita Lopez, but I never thought I would act upon it. Once again, seemingly small events were having huge, gigantic effects on me and I didn't like it. For one, I was starting to look at Rachel more intently. This was the first worrying thing. Of course she was beautiful. She had that kind of beauty where not many people would notice it unless you pointed it out. To everyone else, I'm sure; she was just a badly dressed brunette with a big Jewish nose and a large mouth, a short girl with not much going for her in the looks department. But on Monday when I saw her at her locker, once again time slowed and the world stopped spinning. I wasn't sure if it was the light or the way she was angled, but I had to stop and stare at her because I had never seen her look so…so…radiant.

Again to an outsider there was nothing much to notice about her; she dressed once again in a thick block coloured sweater (red) with an animal on it (an owl), a short plaid skirt (blue and green) and knee high socks with her Mary Janes, finishing her look off with her hair swept over one shoulder and pinned back with a single clip. But because I was seeing her through a completely different set of eyes, I noticed the other things. The important things. The beauty that was Rachel Berry. She was reading something – no doubt sheet music – and her brow was furrowed ever so slightly in concentration. Her lips were pouted in a small round, puckered shape and the longer I stared, the more I was trying to work out if the shine on those suckable lips was from lip-gloss or her own saliva. And a part of me wished it came from her tongue. My eyes drifted to her legs and I could see that, yes where her body was short her legs were certainly a sensual pair; tanned, endless and smooth. Finally they drifted back up her body and stopped where her breasts rested under her sweater. As hard as I tried I could not get my eyes to move from her breasts. I wanted to, God I wanted to, but they wouldn't. I couldn't be caught ogling another girl's chest! I mean, sure in gym class we had all checked out each other's bodies but that was just a comparison thing. Some of the cheerleaders did it specially so they could tease us 'mere mortals' and try to make us jealous. It was the same with Senorita Lopez; I looked at her breasts purely as a comparison thing. But what I was doing was definitely not a comparison test. For one, I was mesmerised by the way her chest rose and fell with each precious breath she took. I'd never flat out asked what size bra she was, but right now I didn't care. I didn't care if they were small or large; like the rest of her, she was perfect.

Finally I stopped staring at her chest and went back to her face. My favourite part about her. I loved her face. I could look at it all day. And that's what I did. In Spanish class (and the other classes we shared together) I couldn't help but watch the way her facial muscles twitched a little as she thought about something, or the different expressions she would make throughout the classes. And this was what worried me the most I think; the fact that I was now spending more time in class making mental notes about her face rather than the stuff we were supposed to be learning. I tried to focus, but somehow I would always find my eyes falling back to Rachel. Once she caught me looking at her and I, of course, looked away immediately. However, instead of being freaked out by it, I heard her light, musical giggle. The sound, like her singing voice, made me smile and I couldn't help but look back at her. She laughed a little harder, trying to muffle the sound so not to distract anyone or get caught, and I could tell she was giggling at the deep blush that dusted my cheeks. A few moments later, a note fell to my desk and I grabbed it straight away.

Of course it was from Rachel and the words, written in her splendid handwriting, made me beam: "See something you like, huh Fabray?" She accompanied her sly, flirty note with a winky face and a little star after her name. Flirty note? I'd never written flirty notes before, except to Kurt in mock ways when we were making fun of the popular kids. Still, I had to send one back and so I tried really hard to tap into my inner flirt. Being a romance book work, however, I could only think of sappy, borderline creepy things to write back. So, I took a chance – a really deep breath – and scribbled back in the space beneath her message; "Perhaps, only the most gracious girl to fall from the heavens. If I may be so bold, Miss Berry, your namesake is a perfect match; do those lips come in all Berry flavours or just Rachel?" So, reading it back I couldn't help cringe at how cheesy it was. What started off as kind of romantic just turned into the worst thing in the world. Still, I couldn't cross it out and start again; she'd already been waiting so long for a reply! So, gritting my teeth and already anticipating the even deeper blush that was going to appear on my cheeks as soon as she opened the note, I gave it back to her.

Whilst she read it, I didn't dare look at her. This was the one time my eyes had no problem with looking and focusing on something else. Still, just because my eyes were focused, didn't mean other parts of me weren't. As soon as I dropped the note on her desk, my foot began to tap against the leg of my chair and my fingers couldn't stop fidgeting. Even though only a few seconds had past, I seriously thought a whole lifetime had gone by. I needed to know, what did Rachel think of it? Was it too weird? Was she grossed out by the idea of me staring at her lips? She did she feel offended by the fact I made fun of her name? Was she offended I mentioned heaven? Did Jews even have heaven? I was working myself up. I was going to have a heart attack or an aneurism or something if she didn't give me the note back. But, lucky for me, not long after I had started contemplating just ripping it back from her and screaming that I wished I could turn back time, a new, fresh note was placed delicately onto my desk.

Glancing a chance at Rachel I was taken aback by her face – once again! Instead of the confident smirk on her lips, she held her bottom lip in a death grip between her teeth, her eyes had a slight worry glow in them and her cheeks were definitely a little pinker than before. Was she blushing too? Was she second guessing what she had written too? Was she scared? Not wanting to keep her in a state of limbo any more, I went back to the note in my hand and carefully unravelled it reveal a whole 'page' of words; "Miss Fabray, I do believe you are the one to have bestowed upon us wretched humans a gift of grace, elegance and beauty. I am but a mere splodge in comparison to you on this Earth and I can only dare say, and admit, that as far as lips are concerned, yours are the most luscious and mine are mere tools for communicating with you. Forever your humble servant, and friend, Rachel Berry." My heart soared a little. Where I could see she was trying to keep a theme of olden day letter writing, I couldn't believe she had gone through the trouble of writing such a note. I was glad she had written it on a separate one because there was no way I was getting rid of it. This was being framed and pinned on my wall. Or at least, being put next to my bed so I could see it as the first thing when I woke up and the last before I went to sleep. In a way it was better than a photograph; I already had her face memorised and now I had this note. It was so personal and beautiful, almost as beautiful as her voice and face.

Without looking back, I wrote her another note on a separate piece just like she did, and prayed once again I hadn't crossed the line. "Miss Berry, your words are as stunning as your voice and face. Nothing can compare to your rare beauty and for that, I thank you for sharing your presence with me. Forever and always, your own more than humble servant and friend, Quinn Fabray." When Rachel read this note, I swore I heard her gasp, but that could have just been my imagination. If we really we back in the days of love letters and long distance, I imagined she would gasp and maybe even shed a tear. But considering we were in a classroom, it was more than probable we would both just have to keep our romantic emotions to ourselves. By romantic, obviously pretend romance. I may have…well, we were friends and we were allowed to do things like this: it was what friends did.

However what friends did not do was exactly what I did Thursday night. After almost a whole school week of sending Old English styled 'letters' within classes, my emotions and hormones were running marathons. Thursday night I was particularly tired and decided to have a bath and relax. I hadn't had a bath in a long time, always opting to take showers as they were more economical. Instead of just having any bath though, I took an hour of my evening to really soak. I but bubbles in it, dimmed the lights and put on a selection of classical music on. The water was so warm and calming I couldn't help but moan at how great it felt to finally have my muscles really worked at. Having a shower beat down on me every day was great, but to be surrounded by warm water was sensational. I didn't even bother to pick up the book I was going to read. Simply closing my eyes and throwing head back on the slippery slope of the tub and inhaling the vanilla scent of the candles was all I needed. With my eyes closed, the music filling my ears and the scent driving itself through me, I let the stresses of the week all leave my body. I felt so relaxed. As relaxed as when I heard Rachel sing for the first time. The bath was heaven and if Rachel had come from heaven, then I only ever wanted to be with her here.

At that thought my eyes snapped open. Suddenly I was feeling things again. Not just emotional feelings, but physical ones. I wasn't naïve or ignorant, I knew what was happening, but I couldn't let it. I had only been in the tub for about fifteen minutes and I really wasn't ready to get out and step out into the reality. But I realised that this was my reality. No matter what setting or surrounding I was in, I would always have these wandering thoughts and feelings. The bath was no longer relaxing and in fact it was kind of suffocating. So reluctantly, I had to get out. Wrapping myself up in a towel, draining the bath and blowing out the candles I stomped back to my room with my iPod and docking stating in tow. Instead of continuing with homework or reading (which was what I was going to after my relaxation) I crawled into bed after drying off and putting on pyjamas and going straight to sleep.

Of course, my torture didn't end there.

During the night I had one of the strangest yet pleasurable experiences of my life. The scene before my eyes was, at first, hazy and cloudy. I didn't know what was going on, but it was a dream and that's how dreams worked. It was dark. Wherever I was, was lit with a single candle – kind of like in the opening of The Phantom of the Opera movie – and then I felt it. And heard it. Soft breath on the back of my neck. I was naked. I knew that because I felt a strange feeling touch me. I felt my nipples harden and my whole body feel like jelly. I was stuck to the ground, but I felt the breath again and I felt myself sway. Then I felt hands. Not just any hands, but hands on my breasts and they squeezed. Small, dainty, delicate hands were squeezing my breasts and it felt amazing. I moaned and tipped my head back, clenching my fists. My head rested on a shoulder and I felt the breath again, this time on my face and I opened my eyes. They widened as I saw whose were staring back down at me. Unmistakably, the chocolate eyes I was gazing into were Rachel's. As soon as I had figured it out, I felt my pupils dilate (and because it was a dream, I really could feel them) and I felt a surge of confidence and I grabbed the back of her neck and pressed her lips hard against mine.

Our first kiss. It may have been in a dream, but it was spectacular and I didn't want it to end. She was naked as well and I felt her twist into me and our bodies pressed against one another's and it elected another sound from me. From both of us. Suddenly it turned wild. We were kissing more frantically. One of her hands was still on my breast, kneading it and squeezing it, tugging on the nipple, but the other was also in my hair. It pushed both of my hands through her hair and scratched at her scalp. During some moments we broke a part to breathe but then dived right back in. Our moves were open and our tongues were duelling together. It was sloppy and loud and I loved it. Like in my bath, I felt myself get wet but this time I didn't care. Instead I took charge again and pulled myself away. Before did what I wanted to do, I stared at her face and my top lip quivered into a sly, almost vampire-ish, snarl and nipped at her bottom lip, dragging it and suck it. Her eyes bugged and her knees gave way, but I caught her. Taking her arms I made her wrap herself around me to keep her from falling. She gripped onto my bare bottom and lower back and held herself there. Then, once she was secure, I latched myself onto her neck. I liked and kissed and nipped, and like a leech I sucked onto her pulse point, smoothing it over with my tongue. She was moaning and her nails were digging into my skin. The pain hurt and it was glorious. It made me bite harder onto her collarbone and I wanted more.

Suddenly a bed had appeared and I picked her up, wrapping her gorgeous legs around my waist and carried her to it. Instead of throwing her down, I lowered her gently onto the sheets – which were ironically pure white – and I kissed, licked and suck up from her belly button and up to her face. My hands gripped at her breasts and I kissed her neck again. She writhed under me and it was fabulous. The noises she was making suddenly made me buck my hips and she gasped. I stopped what I was doing for a second, but then nipped at her lip and winked. Lowering myself again I had somehow situated myself between her legs and positioned myself perfectly.

We stared at each other. Both our chests were rising and falling fast and our breaths were coming out in laboured pants. Rachel looked just a little terrified. And I imagined so did i. But then we smirked and she moved a strand of my hair from my eyes. Nothing needed to be said, and within a few seconds were rocking up into each other and sliding along each other. Then, as in all wonderful dreams, I woke up. Wet. Not just because of the sweat and tears I had somehow cried, but wet because I was completely and utterly aroused. And in need of want – ironically.

I didn't need to know what time it was to know that it was late. I was lying in my bed once again, and this time with sticky, wet pyjama bottoms. And I wanted nothing more than to give into a desire I had only heard girls talk about in the locker rooms. I had never touched myself down there before, except to wash, and a part of me felt repulsed and disgusted. I never understood why girls did it. I knew boys did it, but they were sex crazed and only ever thought with that body part. Well, boys like Puck anyway. I knew that girls could do it and I had heard from several Cheerios that they had to do it because their boyfriends weren't good enough at getting them off. But I had never done it and I thought, did I really want to? With the way I was throbbing, however, I guess my body was telling me that yes, I did. Time passed once again and after going over the pros and cons in my head – the cons being it sounded a little gross and it was different and I would feel like a slutty Cheeerio, the pros being it would relieve some of the tension that had built up – I slipped my hand down the front of my pyjama pants and touched myself. A part of me still felt a little disgusted but…liked it. And I liked it, because thinking of Rachel…made me feel good. At first I wasn't thinking of anything or anyone, just focusing on what my hand was doing. But as I got more and more into it, my mind once again drifted to Rachel. Which was bad and wrong…but if it really felt this good (and judging by the results) then why do I feel so ashamed?

Why was everything so confusing? As well as being wet down there, I was wet up top because of tears once again. I hated all this crying and realised I needed to do something. And the only thing I could think of was possibly talk to Santana.

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

I think I could say with confidence that things were getting out of control. My week at home was beginning to suffocate me even more and I was seriously contemplating going to Principle Figgins with my ideas for a Spanish club just so I could put my energy into something other than worrying about the state of my marriage. For yet another week I barely saw Brittany and when I did, she looked so different. She was pale and tired, but most of all she was sad. Sad Brittany was the worst kind of Brittany in the world and it made me not only mad, but sad too just watching her be a shell of herself. I'd heard of people needing space but for this long? I was concerned about her. As far I could tell she was exactly the same weight and build and so she was still eating and taking care of herself. But why she was so pale was puzzling. There probably nothing wrong with her. It must have been due to the fact I was so used to seeing her with rosy, smiling cheeks. Her eyes had changed too. The no longer glistened or smiled. I couldn't stand to look at her when I saw her in the kitchen or just idly watching television. I wanted so badly to rub her feet or her shoulders, cook her some dinner or just talk to her. But I couldn't. She asked for space. She wanted space. She needed space. And I was going to give her space. When she was ready to talk then I would be ready. I just hoped she wasn't keeping things bottled up any more than I was.

Surprisingly enough, my outlet wasn't a colleague from work – like Will or Emma – or my mom. My confidante happened to be my student. It was weird, but again on Saturday I could see yet again Quinn wasn't herself. She had been off in class and now I wanted to know why. My first surprise was that she still showed up. After the (yet another) disaster of last Saturday, I didn't think she would ever return. But no, she was there with two coffee mugs and even a raspberry and white chocolate muffin. The only difference was, she had no books with her or at least if she did they were all in her backpack.

Cautiously I sat down and instead of taking a sip of my drink, I crossed my arms and looked at her. She mirrored my stance and expression, the only difference being she raised her eyebrow and it looked like she was challenging me. Her attitude was completely different than last week's and I automatically intrigued.

* * *

_Quinn Fabray: _

Just like last Saturday, Santana could tell right away I was stressed out. I knew was going to want me to talk to her about it but there was just no way I could tell her I was having sex dreams about Rachel. Well, one sex dream. That was just too personal. And weird. In the short time I had known her, I didn't want to freak her out or make her not like me and by me telling her that she would definitely no longer want to be my teacher let alone be my tutor. As well as Santana being able to see I wasn't my usual self, I could so tell that there was something wrong with her too. I mean, last week we were so close to letting things out and getting stuff off our chests. Would it be okay to do the same thing now? Would it be appropriate? Although I didn't want to tell her about the sex dream, I could just tell her how I'd been feeling. Right? I mean, she was a teenager once (by the looks of her, not so long ago) and so she had to know how I was feeling. Right? Besides what I was going through was probably normal and every girl does it. Right? Besides, maybe we could help each other out. We were sort of friends and…and that's what friends did. Right?

We stared each other out and I waited a little while longer before laying down the rules for this game we were so obviously about to play. I knew that the raising of my eyebrow would impress her. I saw her lips twitch as she fought back a smirk. Or a smile. I wasn't sure which. But after a few seconds – or hours, who knew how long these showdowns lasted for – I was ready to talk. Well, I had a few ground rules and I was ready to lay them down. So I told her. Still with my arms folded I announced; "I have some ground rules." Impressed by my boldness, she nodded her head and raised her own eyebrows to indicate for me to continue. Not needing to clear my throat I simply began to talk; "One, absolutely nothing either of us says leaves this bubble of trust we have created, okay?" Immediately she nodded her head and her expression changed to that of complete seriousness. She wanted to say something, but I wouldn't let her. I couldn't allow her to be 'the teacher' in this scenario. She was my friend and I was confiding in her. I hoped she would show me the same courtesy, which was why I hesitated slightly when I told her my final rule. "I will only talk, if you talk back." In my mind, I imagined her asking me what I meant but by the way her face hardened slightly and her posture stiffen a little, I knew she understood perfectly.

For a few minutes she contemplated it. She contemplated my ultimatum, no doubt thinking of ways to get out of it. But, that was the deal. She could either accept my conditions and we could move forward, or she could disagree with them and we would go back to meeting simply for educational reasons. However, when her head nodded just as fraction and when she parted her lips, I knew that we were going to move forward. And I was a little terrified once more. The butterflies reproduced tenfold and I was suddenly anxious. "Okay," she said quietly, flickering her hair behind her shoulder, "I accept your conditions, Miss Fabray," her eyes were shining and the way she said my name sent a shiver shooting through me, reminding me of course of Rachel. Leaning forward, she slyly said one more word; "Talk."

The bubble of fantasy burst, but the bubble of trust – as I so originally called it – was still very much intact. I was nervous. I was no longer playing a game. I wasn't 'The Don' or the boss. I was Quinn: scared little Quinn Fabray who no longer had the confidence to hide behind the alter ego of Miss Fabray. Sighing I leaned forward too and licked my lips. Suddenly they were dry, but I didn't want coffee. I couldn't drink because that would only take longer, making this whole 'confession' thing harder. And really, I just wanted it over as soon as possible. "I'm afraid you won't understand," I began, feeling and sounding little defeated. But I couldn't stop. I had to keep going. Staring down into the wooden pattern of the table I continued; "Lately I've been troubled by some thoughts," I shrugged, "Private thoughts. I've been having unnatural feelings for other girls for a while now and I guess I just thought that if I moved here then my thoughts would be different and I wouldn't feel them anymore." I took a breath and looked up at my teacher, hoping she wouldn't find me weird and be grossed out. But if anything, she nodded her head and looked like she understood. She couldn't, but it was nice she was making an effort.

Before I had a chance to go back into my shell and tell her to forget everything I had said, Senorita Lopez announced in a deadly serious tone; "That's stupid Quinn. You're feelings aren't going to change no matter in the world where you are. No matter where you are or how you act you are always going to have these feelings and, I'm sorry to say, there is nothing you can do but embrace it." She took a breath from her words of wisdom and then took a long gulp of her – surely cold – coffee. I frowned at her. How on earth could she dish out such good advice and so I asked her; "How could you possibly know that I won't ever get rid of these thoughts? Maybe it's a phases!" As soon as I had exclaimed that, she raised her eyebrow at me and said, in a slightly cocky voice; "Alright, maybe you should experiment. You're young and free so you can do what you want." Then she leaned in closer to me, so I leaned in too, as if we were sharing some massive secret. "Make out with a guy and then make out with a girl and see which one you like more." To me it seemed so obvious: I'd made out with same and ran away in tears, I had a sex dream about Rachel and woke up dripping wet with desire. Surely it would be easy.

But, I couldn't help but bring myself back to reality. I sighed, "That would be harder than it sounds," and not to my surprise she shrugged; "Life is never easy."

In the moments that past between us, I thought about her advice. I guess it would solve a few things, but was I really ready to kiss Rachel or at least attempt to? Would she let me? Would she freak out? I mean, I hoped not, but what if she did? Still, instead of dwelling on it, I looked up at Senorita Lopez and smiled; "I've told you my problems, now it's your turn, Senorita Lopez. Spill."

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

Quinn's confidence was suddenly back and now it was my turn to be scared. I figured the best way for this to go, was to be completely honest. After all, she had just confided in me possibly the hardest confession anyone would ever have to admit. And I was damn proud of her and actually felt a little emotional that she chose me above everyone else to come out to. Well, not come out to, but confide in. I was so proud that I didn't even feel scared about telling her my own secret. I knew it was a risk, telling a student that I was gay, but I figured hey, we're possibly in the same boat: what as the worst that could happen?

Taking a shaky breath, I gripped my coffee mug and sighed. "My marriage isn't going so well and it's all my fault." Like a true grown up, Quinn simply nodded her head and expected me to continue. Licking my lips, trying once again to figure out how to word what I wanted to say, I looked into my coffee mug and saw my reflection. For some reason, it gave me strength and I was ready. "The problem is, that my other half wants to have a baby, and I'm not ready for one. We've been living pretty separate lives for…I don't know, three weeks now and…and I'm really scared." My voice faltered a little and it cracked. I could see Quinn really wanted to outstretch her hand and hold onto me, but she didn't and I was glad: I had a feeling if she touched me, I would start crying and I really needed to keep it all together.

Having enough time to compose myself, I looked up at Quinn and realised I now had to explain further. Feeling the need to cry vanish, I sat myself up right and I cleared my throat. She knew I was about to professional and serious; she sat up too and actually clasped her hands together in front of her. "Quinn," I started, my voice an octave lower than usual and I knew she was going to follow everything I was going to tell her and ask her to do. She was perfect; the best confidante in the world. "I'm going to tell you something and you have to promise me that you won't tell anyone." She answered immediately that she wouldn't but I had to make sure. Shaking my head I made her really understand just how serious this was. "No I need you to swear to me you won't mention it to anyone or anything. My job could be at stake." Eyes wide and I hoped not scared, she nodded her head frantically, reminding me a child that really wanted to know the end of a story. Practically bouncing on her seat she whisper exclaimed; "I promise Santana I won't say anything." For the first time since our first meeting together like, she called me by my first name and for me, that meant that she wouldn't tell a soul. I could have not meant anything, but to me in that moment, it meant she was going to an amazing girl and not tell anyone.

Having held her gaze for far too long, I took another breath and said as quietly as possible without whispering the secret I had been keeping from everyone in this town; "I…have a wife." As I thought, she looked at little startled. Her eyebrow rose again and she spluttered; "What?" And it was as if we were in a movie. Clearing my throat, I tried to sound as nonchalantly as possible; "I'm a lesbian Quinn." And the penny dropped for her because her other eyebrow joined its partner near her hairline and her jaw dropped a little. "Oh." She gasped, quietly of course and I nodded my head at her asking; "So do you see now why I do understand? You see that I understand exactly what you're going through." Releasing a breath she was holding Quinn nodded her head and turned solemn and pensive. "Yeah," she whispered, "Absolutely."

For a minute we both remained in a peaceful silence. Again I could see her cogs and wheels turning inside her head and I was fascinated by how many thought I could see just by watching her facial expression. Once again, she reminded me of Brittany and I had to smile. Then she looked up and asked me; "So is that why you're so afraid of starting a family? Because you're scared of what people will think?" The kid – well, young adult – had got it in one. Exhaling loudly I nodded my head and muttered; yes that was why I didn't want to have baby. Then she stretched and clicked her neck, trying to not sound so bothered or interested – the same as I had tried to do. "Well I think you should talk to your other half. I mean, surely they will understand. It's not exactly the most welcoming town to minorities. Especially where there are people like my father around." I smiled when she used the vague pronouns, but it disappeared when she mentioned her dad. I felt sorry for her and wanted to tell her not to worry about him, but of course she had to. I didn't want what happened to me happen to her and she had to be careful.

Instead of saying that however, I chuckled and said; "I guess we both need to talk to our other halves, but do we want to?" She laughed with me and became suddenly very wise by saying we all had to do things we didn't want to do.

We both left the coffee shop with the weights on our shoulder les heavy. We both left knowing what we had to do: Quinn had to get over her fears and talk to whoever it was she was crushing on and try a few things out and I had to talk to Brittany. I had the perfectly plan, I just hoped I didn't get it wrong yet again.


	8. Chapter Seven: Realisations

**Mi Vida...Not So Loca**

**Chapter Seven**

**Realisations**

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

I don't know what it was, but as soon as I left the coffee shop I felt empowered. Seriously. I felt like I had all the power in the world and there was nothing that could take it away from me. As cliché as it was, I actually walked with my head a little higher and my back a little more straight. I felt…proud? Weirdly I felt proud. I hadn't done anything but had a conversation. But that conversation sort of felt like it had changed my life. It had changed my life. Slightly. In the way that it had given me a plan and a direction: a new direction. Scoffing to myself, I understood the joke now with Rachel's glee club. Rachel…no! No I couldn't think about her right now. Right now I had a plan that did not involve her. With my head held high, shoulders pushed back and general confident spring in my step, I made my way to Sam's.

Striding down the streets, the cold fall/wintery wind blowing my hair back like I was a supermodel at a fashion shoot, and colouring my cheeks and making my eyes water, I felt confident and powerful. The walk to Sam's – like everywhere else – didn't take too long, and I was actually quite glad. Even though I felt really bold and self-assured, a teeny, tiny part of me was quiet mumbling that I would change my mind and would run away screaming and crying like a little girl. Like last time I was at his place.

Once I arrived, the butterflies in my stomach did too. But like my feelings for girls, I ignored them and licked my lips (for some sort of weird confident boosting effect) and rang the bell. As it was Saturday and kind of cold, I wasn't wearing a too brilliant and outfit. It was kind of like the outfits I wear for school, only nothing really matched. I was surprised my mother's Fashion Disaster Alarms weren't ringing loud and clear when I left the house! Still, I knew Sam – like every other straight teenage boy – wouldn't care about what I was wearing: all he would care about would be what was _under_ what I was wearing.

The door swung open to reveal a shabby looking Sam; his blonde mop looking decidedly more moppy and floppy today, his polo shirt collar was sticking up and his jeans were very crumpled. Still, I guess that was normal if he had been playing video games all day or playing football with the guys (or simply just sleeping!) He looked a little tired, but again that could have been down to a number of factors; games, football, sleep…homework?

"Hey Quinn," he greeted, grinning slightly but holding it back to stop it from becoming the fullest it could be. Clearly he was still cautious about what happened. But tonight – or to-afternoon – he couldn't be cautious because I had a plan I had to follow through. Channelling vibes from the 'sexy' girls at school and the ones I had seen on the television, I flashed him a smouldering smirk and fluttered my wind-watering eyes at him. "Hey Sam," my voice was also a little huskier, which I wasn't really expecting but I had to go with it. "Is the 'good Pastor' and his wife at home?" Again, I didn't really know where that line came from, but I went with it. Sam's mouth dropped open slightly. I knew full well they wouldn't in – his little sister had a ballet class and his little brother was probably at a sport class. Perfect opportunity for me. Us. Whatever. Sam made an unintelligent noise as he looked around his hall and living area, seemingly forgetting he was alone. "Er no, they're not in. No one's home. Just me." Again, he was being cautious and so, channelling some sort of 'ego', I pushed myself past him. "Great, mind if I come in?" Like I had seen in the movies, I shrugged off my coat and hung it on the banister and kicked off my shoes, beginning to climb the stairs. Soon I felt Sam's presence behind me and then he rushed ahead. Checking his room before allowing me in, like a gentleman, he held the door open for me and I slipped inside.

Then the butterflies kicked it up a notch and I had to try really hard not to shake.

Once inside his room, I sat on his bed and made myself comfortable; shimming against his wall and crossing my legs at my ankles, resting my hands in my lap. My eyes were fixed on him – trying to produce a sexy look with them (when in actual fact, I was trying really hard to calm my rapidly beating heart and shaking hands). Sam stood in front of me, one hand scratching the back of his neck and the other in his trouser pocket. "So err…what do you want to do?" A confident voice in my head whispered; "I want to do you", but then I remembered that that was _not _what I was here for. A simple making out session with some possible touching. That was it. So I sat up and patted the space beside me. "I was wondering if we could try again." My confident persona faded and now a nervous, innocent but determined character arrived. Sam gulped and nodded his head as he sat next to me.

The nerves we were both feeling were basically radiating and creating their own aroma. Our bodies were close; thighs pressed against each other and arms doing the same. Our heads were close too and our breaths were puffing out and mingling together. Before I got too nervous – feeling the sick feeling rise through me – I licked my lips and whispered a breathy sigh (almost) "Kis me, Sam." The blonde nodded his head and closed his eyes as he snaked his arm around my waist, pulling me even closer to him. His nose lightly bumped mine, but I didn't care. My arm reached up slightly and took the back of his neck and brought him further into me. Our lips met and then left each other. Then met, then left. Met, then left. Sam was being sweet and attentive; little pops appeared when our lips disappeared from one another and it was quite romantic. Then, things began to progress. I slid my hand down his neck and gripped onto him with my other hand, locking him in. He took both of his hands and pressed me gently down onto his bed so that I was resting sort of on my back and sort of on my side. Our lips never leaving, as now we were sliding our lips over one another.

Feeling bold, I somehow slipped my tongue into his mouth and when I looped it around his, I began to suck. I didn't quite know how, but I did. Our lips stopped moving so I could suck on it, and Sam moaned and gripped onto my waist slightly harder. His tongue was strange. It was hard and slippery but really strong. I could feel it flutter somehow and when I finally let go of it, it stayed in my mouth and tried to tangle itself with mine again. I liked it, but se niggling thoughts of mine were still trying to be annoying. So I ignored them and pressed my hand on Sam' chest, dragging it down to his stomach.

And then Sam ripped his mouth (tongue, teeth and lips) away from me and sat upright, his head bowed slightly and hands griped in his lap. I thought he was praying for a moment, and then I got a little worried; was he praying for the strength not to have sex with me? I kind of hoped so. I didn't want to have sex with him. Not right now anyway. Or at all? I didn't know! I sat up and looked at him, worried that he was worried and concerned about something. Getting a good look at his face, I saw that his mouth was hung open, like a dog in a car on the highway, and his eyebrows were frowning quite harshly.

"Sam, are you okay?" I asked, now reverting back to myself. I was concerned for his wellbeing. Nodding his head but still not looking at me, he stuttered; "Yeah I'm…err…okay." I nodded my head too, and shifted position slightly to see if he really was okay. "Are you-" He interrupted me, blushing wildly when he turned his head to look at me. "I've just got an um…" He then gulped and looked down again. My eyebrows furrowed again. "A what?" I asked. "Stomach ache?"

"No!" He laughed, shaking his shaggy blonde hair, "No I've um…" He then looked at me again, biting his lip and then sighing as the blush grew. "Gotten a little excited." At first I wasn't sure what he meant, so he pointed with his head down to his jeans and I saw the bulge. "Oh!" I exclaimed and shifted away slightly out of instinct. Sam then go worried and tried to reassure me everything was okay; "But don't worry, just give it a minute and it'll-"

"Can I see it?" I blurted and we locked eyes.

I wasn't sure why I asked to see his erection, but I…I just wanted to. It definitely wasn't part of my plan to see it. I knew that there was a possibility of him getting one, but I was sure we would both just ignore it. There was no way I was going to run out crying again because of something natural and accidental. When our weird sort of spell of just staring at each other was over, I could see Sam was confused and a little shocked at my request. Again he stuttered; "What?" And then the seductive form of me pushed him down onto the bed, like he had done to me, this time with me half on top of him. I'd never felt this in control and I was trying to keep as calm as possible. "If you let me see it," I husked into his ear, trailing my hands down from his chest again and stopping at his belt buckle, gripping onto it hard. Liking my lips I husked; "I'll let you see my breasts." Where I had sort of planned and anticipated groping, I didn't think it would happen like this. Where was the sweet, gentle romance we had before? I guess it was ruined by a certain part of anatomy. At my bargaining, I swear he must have grown even harder because suddenly he was nodding his head and his hands were joining mine at his bulging crotch. Soon, we both managed to unbuckle his belt, unzip his pants and pop the button on his jeans and then I saw his underwear.

Even though I hadn't really seen 'anything' yet, I still felt myself blush and my breath speed up a little with the anticipation. His eyes flickered to mine and I nodded my head. Suddenly I saw it. What I had been taught was something I shouldn't see until I had taken my wedding dress off. I was seeing a real live…boy's anatomy! And I felt a little weird. It was kind of intriguing and kind of gross at the same time. Sure girl's parts aren't beautiful objects either, but I seriously thought it was ugly. I guess because he was no longer being stimulated, Sam put it away because it had deflated and then he refastened himself up. Next thing I knew, it was my turn to show him what I had promised to show him. We swapped positions so he was now sitting up and I was resting against the headboard of his bed. Girls showed their boobs to each other all time – at least in gym class when they were getting ready or at sleepovers to 'measure up' and 'compare' – but it was completely different showing a boy! I hadn't even taking my top off and he was staring at my chest. I knew he would, being a teenage boy, but I still felt weird.

Not looking at him, I took off my cardigan, and then put my arms behind my back to popped some of the buttons, so it was loose enough for me to slide the straps of my dress down my arms. My fingers were trembling, but I had to do it. I had to know if I would like it if I boy looked at my breasts – and touched them, I had to know if I would like it if a boy were to touch my breasts. I was a little scared. Of what, I'm not sure but all I know is that as soon as enough of my dress was loose enough I shut my eyes tightly and lifted my bra up. The cold air pierced them and I knew my nipple were erect (probably like Sam). I heard him gasp slightly, and knew that this was his first time at seeing a pair of breasts before. After a few seconds he whispered; "Thanks Quinn," and I took that as 'permission' to redress myself.

Even though we hadn't touched the parts we had 'requested', we both felt a little flushed. We sat together for a moment deciding what to do. It felt like hours of us just sitting there, pondering. Then, Sam took control and asked in a shaky voice; "Can we kiss again?" And instead of replying with a yes, that confident ego of mine reached for him and locked our lips together. Within seconds I was flat on my back with him on top of me, our mouths working fast and furiously. Suddenly, Sam's hand was on my breast and before he could even ask if it was okay, I was somehow nodding my head and pressing his hand harder onto it; forcing him to add some wonderful pressure I had only felt once before: in a certain dream.

We carried on kissing, making noisy, breathy sounds and wet slapping noises with our lips. It was intoxicating. And it was all so fast. One minute we were being sweet and romantic, then looking at 'naughty' things and now we were making out like no tomorrow. The sensations I was feeling were crazy. For a moment I thought I was back in my dream. I could feel myself getting worked up and so I clenched my thighs together in order to relieve some of that tension. My hands were digging into Sam's back and I was sure my moans were making him moan too. I tried to open my eyes and see him, but I was afraid of my eyes playing tricks on me. Even though I liked the feeling, I could see a head of brunette hair and hear a sweet, light, definitely girlish voice.

Then he stopped.

"Why did you stop?" I panted, wanting her to carry on. Him! I wanted him to carry on (but in my mind I wanted her to never stop). I opened my eyes and saw that Sam had his hand stuck down the front of his jeans. I stared at Sam with a horrified but confused look. Sam's cheeks were bright red and he was mumbling something again. He was too nervous to make sense but then he looked up at me. In his eyes I saw a look of pure fear and embarrassment. This time I was more than positive he was praying and so I began to pray in my head. At first I thought he was embarrassed because of what we were doing and then I thought it was because I had accidentally said Rachel's name instead of his. That would be disastrous and I would never be able to come up with a good lie and I would just have to kill him and throw his body in a river somewhere. Just as I was thinking of lies to tell him of why I could have maybe, possibly, called out Rachel Berry's name instead of his own because of the pleasure I was getting, he gulp. "Please don't be mad at me," he pleaded and I frowned further wondering why I would be mad.

And then it clicked. My eyes wandered down to where he hand still was and I realised why he must have thought I was angry at him. Clearly I wasn't the only one getting worked up. Only at least the only form of my working up 'exploding' was by my panties be so soaked I was surprised the bed wasn't flooded with my own…well…whatever it was that made girls wet. But then I guess it would mix with Sam's…stuff. Lucky for him it was all contained inside his underpants and in his jeans. A good tip for the next time I got 'excited' would be to wear my own pair of jeans. Sam was still biting down on his lip as his hand (I guessed) tried to gather everything so that nothing stained. "Has that ever happened before?" I asked in a slightly whisper. He nodded his head and explained that whenever he masturbated it happened. I shook my head and glanced at him; "That's not what I meant," I told him and gulped, "I mean, have you ever done that when kissing a girl?" For a moment he considered his answer. After a little thinking time – and I guess a little more cleaning – he spoke; "Well I've never touched a girl's boobs before so…no. It's never happened before when kissing a girl." I nodded my head, understanding what he meant. I hadn't gotten wet the first time I kissed him but now because we had gone to another stage – the 'next level' as it were – it was only natural that my body was going to react to him. I guess it also didn't help that I was think about and imagining someone who I actually did like– "Did you explode too?"

His question knocked me back into what we talking about and I faced him. My eyes were a little wide and my cheeks were once again flushed. Did I 'explode' too? No. I didn't. But did he want me to? Was I supposed to? I guess by his reaction of 'exploding' himself it wasn't a good thing. Maybe I was supposed to but he wasn't? Maybe we were supposed to take it in turns or something…Ugh it was all so confusing. "No," I said bluntly and then shaking my head, "No sorry I didn't." It appeared I had said the wrong thing because Sam deflated a little. "Oh," he mumbled, "Okay." By the sound of his voice I knew he was disappointed and so I knew I had to save this somehow. Putting my hand on his shoulder I softly spoke to him; "But I've never 'exploded' before at all so…" I trailed off with a shrug, hoping that he knew he hadn't done anything wrong. I was just inexperienced and so it wasn't his fault why nothing (but me getting incredibly wet) had happened. Thankfully he seemed to appreciate my answer and he looked up at me and smiled. In that moment and in that light, with my hand on his shoulder and our faces not too far away from one another, I felt quite romantic. But then he had to ruin it by trying to be…I'm not sure what he was trying to be. I guess he was trying to be sweet, but really it made me feel a little sick. "Maybe one day I can make you have your first explosion?" He suggested, trying to give me a smirk like Puck still gave me. Instead of just slapping him across the face and leaving, I rolled my eyes at him and chuckled; "Who knows!" Of course I did. To me it was obvious I was never going to experience what Sam had just experienced if I was going to just be making out with him. I needed someone else to help me do that. I wanted someone else, but there was no way that was going to happen.

For the rest of our time together that afternoon, we sat on his bed playing video games. Very violent video games that didn't make me feel wet or aroused or anything like that. It must have been a tactic boys did once they had…had their own fun, and it certainly worked, because as I was blowing up a zombie's head, I wasn't thinking of Senorita Lopez or Rachel. I was just focus on blowing up every zombie I could see on the screen.

* * *

_Santana Lopez: _

As per usual, Brittany got up to ready for her dance class. From inside the spare room – to which I was still sleeping roughly in – I could hear her shower and knew I would soon hear her getting changed and heading out of the door. Her first class was at nine thirty and I knew she would want to get there nice and early to do a proper warm up as the little kid warm ups weren't really warm ups. Because I knew her so well, I knew that she would only be in the shower for a little bit, so I figured I would try and follow the advice Quinn and I gave each other the previous day. Maybe I wouldn't get chance to talk to her right now, but maybe later? I hoped later. After the last time I tried to talk to her, I knew I would have to actually make a bigger effort to talk to her. Instead of being a coward I would have to actually _talk_. Not just try, but actually do it. I would have to sit her down and explain to her. Or at least begin to. I missed her and this was becoming borderline crazy: we were a married couple, we were meant to be able to get through difficult situations. This was by far the most difficult situation we had ever been through (as a married couple anyway) and so I was adamant we would make it through this.

Starting to go through with my plan of talking to her and making a better effort at making this rough patch of our marriage smooth again, I threw back the covers and went downstairs. Sometimes Brittany doesn't have time for a proper breakfast, even though she is (was) always telling me to eat something and not just have a cup of coffee. In my mind, she should have to eat and drink more because of all the hours she was putting in at the dance studio. Every class required a lot of energy from her; the kiddie classes because she would have to play games and run around and occasionally stop and little fight, the older child dances were the same only the girls would sometimes need to be told off for giggling too much and not paying attention and then the teenage classes were super intense.

In the kitchen I boiled the kettle to make coffee for the both of us and then started on making a fruit salad with Greek yoghurt, topped up with toast and a few choices of topping for it. From down in the kitchen, I could still hear the water running in the shower and as I chopped up the fruit, I imagined what she looked like. Obviously I knew what she looked like as I knew her naked body like a perfect map and I had joined her in showers and baths before. But I wanted to know what she was doing. Was she washing her hair or just washing her body? Was she humming tunes or singing softly? Was she going through the steps of today's class or was she standing still? Was she crying or just letting the water do that for her? I hoped she wasn't crying. I had cried in the shower during our separation and it made me not want to come out. I wanted to stay in that shower and cry, because at least then I could blame it on the shower water. Just picturing Brittany crying whilst showering-

"What are you doing down here?" I was snapped out of my thoughts and looked over my shoulder. It turns out I had zoned out for a lot longer than I thought because Brittany was stood in front of me, wearing her dance studio sweats and gym bag down by her feet. Her face had a little frown on it, but she was of course still beautiful. Ignoring her question slightly, I held up the bowl of fruit I had somehow chopped up and smiled at her. "I thought I'd make you breakfast," accompanied by a little shrug. Sky blue eyes drifted down to the little blue bowl of fruit and then back up to my mocha eyes. I could see she was wondering whether to take the fruit or not. In my teenage years I probably would have snapped at her in a sarcastic way and thrust the bowl under her nose and into her hands. No way would I do that now, not with all this tension. Thankfully, she walked forward and took the bowl. Our fingers just grazed each other and we both froze. It was barely anything and yet it felt so much. To me anyway.

Awkwardly we both sat at the small breakfast table and sipped our coffees and munched on our fruit. In almost silence. I watched her eat and I could see how hard it was for her to try and not look at me. She may still be mad, but I could see she would want to talk about things soon. Really, it was a good thing I was planning on talking to her later anyway. "What time do you finish today, sweetie?" I asked, not realising I had used the term of endearment until I saw her eyes flash at me. It was only a slight flicker, but I definitely saw she didn't like it for a moment. But then she relaxed and it made me think that maybe she did like it. Maybe she did miss being with me. This silent treatment wouldn't go on forever and maybe it would even break today. Looking down into her almost empty bowl, Brittany replied; "About two o'clock." I knew that of course, but I thought I would be a good weigh in. Nodding I said, "Oh okay, sweetie. I'll be here when you get back, sweetie." She must have known I was using her nickname deliberately, but even as she rolled her eyes, I could almost see the beginnings a mock annoyed smirk. I hoped anyway, that it wasn't a real snarl.

In no time at all, Brittany pushed her chair back and mumbled a thanks and then made her way out of the kitchen and out of the house. Once again, I was left alone with my thoughts. But not for too long because I had every intention of going to Brittany's dance studio and surprising her. This would pan out in two ways: she gets mad that I've turned up without telling her, or she's really touched that I would surprise her. Luckily for me, she likes to jog to the studio on the weekends, so I knew she would have to come back with me no matter what.

For a few hours I did my grading, planned a few more 'exciting' lessons and worked on more of my project for a Spanish club. Then, before I knew it, it was one o'clock. I wanted to watch some of Brittany's teaching so it wouldn't just look like a last minute to go and pick her up. Besides, I missed watching her dance. So I cleaned up my papers, got in the car and made my way to wife's second favourite place. At least I hoped it was still only second.

When I arrived the parking lot was pretty packed and I assumed parents had come to watch the class instead of going home and having to come back. Being the owner's wife, however, I parked in her car spot and didn't need to bother finding somewhere. Even before leaving the car I could hear the music. It was some really cheesy pop music and a big grin formed on my face: I could picture Brittany's own grin as she watched the little kids jumping around and pretend to dance real moves. I unbuckled my belt and got into the building as quickly as possible. Walking up to the glass window of where the 'spectators' could watch, I scanned the room of tiny children and Cheerios Brittany had hired to help out. Once I saw her, I couldn't help but melt yet again at the sight of her. My wife was quite simply beautiful. Anyone could see this, but when she was in her element of dancing she was exquisite. She looked even more beautiful when she was teaching because as I watched her help a little boy get his steps just right during one of the kid ballet classes she was teaching, she wore this smile that made me want to leap over there, twirl her around, dip her and kiss her like she had never kissed her before. Except with all these kids and parents together in the same room, I figured that wouldn't be a good idea. And with our current no talking thing going on, it also wouldn't be a good idea.

Even teaching a five and six year old ballet class, Brittany was graceful and elegant. She really could be on any stage, in any company, doing any dance and she would be the best. Why she decided to teach dance instead of continuing to travel and dance, I have no idea. Well, I do, but I sometimes wish she would have continued travelling with various artists. It was exciting and electrifying. Sure, it was tough because we had to keep on changing schedules so we could be together or we'd be a part for a while…but it was worth it to see her doing something she loved. Kind of like having a baby…it would be tough because of work and mood swings and finance…but it would make her happy. It would brighten up her world. It would move us forward into the next stage of our lives: motherhood, parenthood. Brittany still wanted to dance, she always would, but she wanted to be domesticated. She wanted a family of her own. And I was stopping her. I was like an old record, but it was just so complicated. In my mind anyway.

Just as I was thinking about babies, a cry was sounded behind me. The protective instinct in me turned around to find out if anything was wrong but saw that there was a woman on one of the couches, holding what looked like a new born and was trying to get it to either feed or sleep. Looking back at the class, I saw they were playing another game and so I thought I would sit down. Besides, I thought I could talk to this mom. Maybe my problem was I didn't know any moms – well not any moms my own ages anyway, or ones I had much contact with – and so maybe by talking to her, I would get sort of used to the idea of having a baby.

Sitting down across from her, I looked at the baby. It was pink and a little wrinkly with no hair on its head whatsoever. It was a little weird but kind of cute at the same time. She was dressed in a little purple onesie with a bunny rabbit eating a pink carrot on it. "Her name's Isabella." Once again I was drawn out of my thoughts by someone speaking to me. I blinked and looked at the woman. She had a soft smile and light brown curls that hung around her heart shaped face. She reminded me of Emma at school, but not nearly as mousey. Smiling I commented on what a nice name it was and how old she was. "She'll be two months old soon," the woman cooed, rocking the now settled baby in her arms. "Time flies so fast!" She laughed and I could see now she was referring to an older child because another little girl – spitting image of her – had come to the window to wave and then ran back to join in the dancing game. "Ruby's six, but I swear she's like a teenager sometimes!" Again she laughed, and I laughed too. My mom always used to say that about me all the time. I leaned in a little closer to see the baby's – Isabella's – face. She had a little squished nose, soft little cheeks and small blue eyes. Not as blue as Brittany's but still bright blue. "She's really beautiful," I sighed, running a hand through my hair and tying it up with my hair tie to give me something to do. The woman smiled up at me and thanked me, but then she took me by surprise by asking if I wanted to hold her baby.

My whole body went on high alert. Was she serious? She had just met me and she was already allowing me to touch her baby? If I had a baby I would run police background checks on everybody who just _looked_ at my baby. _If_ I had a baby? Maybe more like…when? _When _I had a baby? When _we_ had a baby. Before my inner ramblings could continue much longer, the woman was getting up and placing the child in my arms. My eyes were just as wide as the baby's. I hadn't held a baby in a really long time and I was petrified I would drop it or brake or make it cry. But to my surprise, Isabella didn't mind being held by me. She gurgled in protest at first, but I think that was due to the fact she was being shifted and moved. Then she settled into me and actually began to relax. My hands and arms were shaking at the fear of doing something wrong, but once I adjusted her so she was a little more comfortable, it actually felt quite cool. Kind of…comforting. Staring down into these light blue baby eyes, I felt myself feeling a little…gooey? I guessed this is what feeling broody is like because a grin I only ever gave my beautiful wife spread across my face and I began to coo at her. Babbling little things that parents – and adults in general – say to little babies. "Aren't you precious," I commented and then smacked my lips together a little bit, "Yes you're lovely, and you smell so sweet!" That final comment made the woman laugh and shake her head.

Looking up at her I smirked and told her how if they could somehow bottle the smell of new-born babies they would make a fortune. The woman agreed and said how when both of her girls were born she tried to keep the smell for as long as possible. "Wasn't that a little hard," I asked, shifting Isabella so she could suck on my finger when her mouth was opening and closing, "What with dirty diapers and cooking and just general smells?" Again the woman laughed and I was starting to the think that once you had a baby, you never stopped smiling and laughing. "Well my husband didn't help by spraying his cologne and cooking the most revolting fish!" Scrunching up my nose I nodded; it would be pretty hard to maintain a beautiful, innocent, perfect smell like baby scent with the stench of yucky man cologne and fish reeking out the place! Looking back down at Isabella, I smiled a small smile at her and watched as her tiny tongue lashed at my finger. "You don't have children yourself yet then?" She asked, and instead of looking at her, I kept my focus on her tiny infant. There was something about her – probably her eyes that reminded me too much of Brittany – that kept me anchored to look at her. "No," I mumbled a little solemnly, "No I don't. My partner and I are…" Shrugging I tried to come up with the right way to describe with what my wife and I were doing in regards to children. Glancing up at her I told her, "My wife and I are discussing it."

I was sure as soon as I had said 'wife' and not used 'partner' again, the woman would flip out, snatch her baby from my arms and run away as fast as she could, shrieking that a lesbian had touched her baby and possibly tried to corrupt her child. Instead she smiled sympathetically and nodded her head with what I guess was pity. Seeing that she wasn't going to burn me at the stake, I sighed and looked back down at Isabella (who was now beginning to whimper a little) and continued explaining. "She wants to have a baby really badly but I'm just…" Trailing off I sighed and shook my head. But then as my eyebrows furrowed in thought, I realised I just had to ask her. "What do you think of two women, or two men for that matter, raising a child?" Just because she didn't mind me holding her own child and hadn't starting cursing me, didn't mean she couldn't start and I was expecting her to; now that I had told her that Brittany and I were thinking of having a baby of our own. A huge smile that could rival my own when thinking of Brittany was plastered onto the woman's face. "Like any loving couple, if they love their child and want what's best for it, then they should absolutely be allowed to have a baby." She spoke with an air of such matter-of-fact that my own smile grew into one of comfort. I was so happy she had said that. But she continued, "In fact, I think if you and your wife were to have a baby you guys would be perfect parents," as she paused, I frowned at her: she barely knew me and didn't know who my wife was, so how could she make that assumption? With a little chuckle of knowing, she carried on. "Because you two would have to go through so much more effort to have a child, more so than the average couple, then your child would undoubtedly be surrounded by so much love. There's no way they would be able to turn around and ask if they were an accident or something. You two would have to put in so much hard work and effort just to have a child. And all the prejudice you guys might have to put up with; that could only make your relationship stronger, right? You child would be so proud to have you both as parents: as moms."

For a moment I wanted to cry. Her words were so touching. They were the same words I was sure Brittany would use in her own speech of convincing me. But hearing them from someone else, from an outsider, they somehow felt so much more important to me. Sniffling back any tears that may try to come out, I nodded my head at her. "Thank you so much," softly I told her, "You have no idea what that means to me and my wife too." Again, the woman smiled and shrugged one shoulder before looking down at Isabella. I hadn't noticed, but she was now pawing at my breast and I realised that she was opening and closing her mouth and sucking on my finger because she was hungry. As I presented the little baby back to her mother, I giggled to myself; imaging the laughs Brittany and I would have if that happened to us. If I was holding our baby and they tried to feed off me or Brittany holding her and she tried to feed off her…it would be interesting but funny. The poor baby didn't know. All they would know is, bumps on woman must mean feeding.

As the woman got up to find a quiet spot to feed her child, I held out my hand and touched her on her arm. "Stay here and feed," I told her, knowing that Brittany wouldn't mind if a woman wanted to feed her child here. For a second the woman looked a little unsure; looking around herself and making sure no one was watching. Her hesitation made me smile softly at her and I tugged her back down. "You're allowed to feed your child wherever you want; why should you go and hide when feeding your baby is one of the most natural things in the world?" Looking up at me, the woman laughed in agreement and she began to unbutton her blouse. Just because I thought she should be allowed to feed in the open, didn't mean I wanted to watch. Even though I didn't have a child, I knew that the bond of breastfeeding was pretty strong and I thought I should give the two of them some privacy for their intimate mother/baby moment. Patting her on the shoulder I turned and headed back to the glass window to watch the last few minutes of the dance class: the woman's kind and true words hitting home like a truck in a wall.

I guess, as women, Brittany and I had every right to have a baby. Together. Isabella's mom was right; we would love our child so much, especially because there would be no chance in hell we didn't want her. Other couples could be stupid. They could have five minutes of passion and then eighteen years of hell. Other couples might only have a baby because it meant they could get a free home. Teenagers got pregnant all the time and were raising babies they very rarely were ready for. Brittany and I were adults. Married adults with some sense of financial security and a home and…and love. Even though we were currently going through a fight, I knew that it was pointless. We loved each other, cherished each other, admired each other…there weren't enough adjectives to describe just what we felt for each other. Any child we had would be so loved. They wouldn't have to beg for our love or seek ways of getting it; they would just have it. No questions or doubts about it. Our child would be smothered in love and there would be nothing no one else could do about it.

Looking around the room as the kids were gathering their things with their parents as the class finished, I imagined how many of them would turn out to be gay or straight. A pair of boys caught my eye. They must have been about four years old and definitely not brothers – judging by the fact one was ironically a Latino and the other as pale as snow. And they were holding hands. Two little boys holding hands as they walked to their little backpacks at the side. I watched them and wondered what they would be like in ten or so years' time. Would they still be dancing? Would they still be learning how to do ballet or would they be doing something more 'manly' like football? Would these two little boys grow up and still be friends? Would they be more than friends? A part of me hoped they would still be friends but another part of me just hoped they would be happy. If they were together romantically then that would be beautiful and if not, that would still be great. One thing I did not want though, was one of them pining after the other and being heartbroken in the process.

"They're adorable aren't they?" Another voice snapped me out of my thoughts and I turned to a woman who was probably the Latino boy's mother. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I smiled at her. "Yes they are," I told her with an airy tone to my voice, "Not that I was perving or anything." I stammered which only made the woman giggle. She stood next to me, allowing the boys to gather their things in peace. "Antonio is my son," she clarified, pointing to the Latino boy who was now swinging his pale friend's hand back and forth, now they had their backpacks secured on their little, sweaty backs. "And Christopher is his best friend. They're inseparable!" She exclaimed chuckling again and I couldn't help but chuckle with her. "I guess they are at that age," I shrugged, still beaming. I knew if they were truly the best of friends they would continue to always be inseparable. The woman nodded her head and shrugged her shoulders; "Oh to be so carefree and not have to worry about what people think," she turned her head and looked at me with sparkles in her eyes, "right?" She asked and I had to think for a moment. If these boys – Antonio and Christopher – really were going to grow up being gay, then they would have to seriously think of ways to deal with it. But I guess she was right; at their age they didn't have sexuality, just love and I just wished that was the same no matter how old a person got.

Turning my head to look at her, I beamed at her. What was it with me and these mothers today? Usually I only ever beamed at Brittany. I guess it was the broody thing. And what surprised me was that I liked it. "Absolutely!" I agreed, nodding my head and then looking back at the boys who were making their way over to the woman. "If only everyone could stay so innocent and care free," I added for my own two cents. The two boys – who clearly paid a lot of attention in the class and worked very hard, judging by their messy hair and sweating skin – rushed over and began to tell the woman all about their dance class. What made me smile bigger and brighter than before was when Antonio jumped up (with Christopher still attached to his hand) and announced; "Miss Brittany is the bestest teacher in the whole wide world!" His mother laughed and patted him on the head, looking at me and saying goodbye. All the way to the door, Antonio and Christopher raved about 'Miss' Brittany and how "Super awesome" the class was. But what really made me smile and melt a little more, was how they still held hands. I imagined on their way home, they still held each other's hands and even when they finally had to part, I imagined them hugging and never wanting to let go.

Like how Brittany and I were before complicated feelings go in the way.

"Santana, what are you doing here?" A final voice broke me from my thoughts but this time it was the one voice I wanted to hear all along. Facing my wife with a soft smile and shinnying, glistening eyes. Watching Antonio and Christopher skip away with Antonio's mom, listening to that kind woman and holding Isabella, I suddenly found myself getting all emotional. Now I just wanted Brittany. "I came to watch you." I told her, shrugging my shoulders slightly but I still kept my smile and refused to curl up into myself right now. Frowning, Brittany looked around and asked; "Why? You can't just come here and watch the kids dance, someone might think you're a-"

"I came to watch you, Brittany. Not the kids," I told her with a slight desperate tone. Not so desperate that it sounded like I was whining, but desperate in the fact I just wanted her to know that I still loved her and I wanted her to know I loved her so much and cared for her that I would take time out of my day of relaxation just to watch her. "I came to see you." I told her a little quieter and stepped closer.

Still Brittany frowned but I could see her shoulders relax slightly. "Why?" She asked, quietly, and I could hear the uncertainty filling her voice. The corner of my mouth twitched and I stepped closer again. "I'm tired of seeing you so sad, Britt. And I know that it's my entire fault. Who else's could it be huh? Not yours, you're too perfect." I wanted to put my hands on her forearms, rub her arms comfortingly and look at her like she was the most fantastic woman in the world. I did the latter, purely because I didn't want her to shrug me off her. Her eyes relaxed but her body tensed and she opened her mouth to protest something, but I wouldn't let her. "No, Brittany." Stopping her with a slightly firm tone, "I need to tell you that…" I trailed off and this time I did put my hands on her arms. This was the part where I told her I was going to move forward. I was going to stop being a coward and actually explain a few things to her. She didn't shrug me off which was a good sign and I stepped even closer, so now we were almost pressed against each other. Softly I began to speak; "I need to tell you everything. I just need you to promise that you'll listen to me. That you won't cry or yell or…or shut me out?" My nose sniffled. I didn't want to cry but apparently my body was telling me otherwise. I tried to will some tears back into my head, but I could still feel them brimming on the surface of my eyes.

My wife looked at me in those tear shinning eyes and I held my breath. She was looking at me. Really looking at me. She then spoke so softly I was glad we were standing at such close proximities. "When you say 'tell me everything' you mean…?"

"I mean I'll tell you everything I've been feeling." With conviction I told her, widening my eyes, as if showing her the whole of my eyes she would be able to see there was no way I was lying. "All my…my thoughts and fears and…everything." Brittany nodded as she took everything in. Her teeth nibbled on her lower lip and she nodded her head once again. With a weak, mousey, timid little voice that didn't want to hear her use ever again, she asked; "And you won't hold anything back?" And with the sternest conviction I could muster, I squeezed her arms and told her; "Absolutely not."

Silently pleading with my eyes, I watched as she was thinking. Clearing things had changed since the previous day. Where before I thought I was going to be killed by her, to now having that fluttering feeling of hope back, I felt myself relax. Even though I was still waiting for her answer, I felt good knowing that, after talking to Quinn, I knew I really could talk to Brittany about anything. She was my wife and deserved to know what I was thinking. Then, before I went insane with wondering what she was thinking, a tiny smile blossomed onto her face. Her shoulders shimmied and my hands fell from her arms. Gingerly, she took hold of my hand and linking our fingers together. Just when I thought things were going to be okay, she sighed and squeezed my hand. "You know what, let's just go home and spend the day together." I was confused. I was all ready and prepared to open up and tell her everything, but then she continued. "We need a break from talking all about…the future," I heard and felt her shudder at referring to the prospect of having a baby as 'the future' so I squeezed her hand back in return. "Let's go, spend the next week or so being us. Being a couple and not a…a couple discussing having a house extension." I liked her analogy and chuckled with her. "Let me go home and shower and then we can go for a walk and just…be in love?" Her little dip of her head and inflection made her look so cute I just wanted to kiss her. Instead, I opted for rubbing my nose against hers and breathed in her slightly sweaty but still delicious scent.

A part of me couldn't believe what Brittany had just said. She truly was amazing. How she could just say we could be in love again after me just saying I wanted to talk. Was that all it took? Well no, it took this time for me to think – for us both the think – and for us to really realise what was important. We loved each other and we were going to stay together forever. Deep down, now I was allowed to hold my wife again, I knew we were going to have a baby. In my mind there were no doubts: we were going to have a baby. Of course I wasn't sure about the when or where, but the fact we were going to have an actual conversation about it soon, meant it was going to be a definite. And I wasn't scared. Excited felt like a more fitting adjective.

I pulled her arm and brought her body to mine and held her close. I took a quick moment to think of everything I had seen and heard today just in that hour slot of waiting for Brittany to be done with her teaching: the woman with the baby who had basically preached to me that everyone had a right to love whoever they wanted and to have a child, and the mother with a hand holding son saying how wonderful it was to be so carefree. I knew that this was only the beginning, if I really could talk to Brittany about everything I was feeling then maybe, just maybe, I would be confident enough to actually have a baby in this town. After all, my life's goal was making her happy and what could bring her more happiness than making her life goal of becoming a mother come true? For now though, I was kind of glad we were going back to how things were before. Just as long as we started talking soon, I knew we were going to be okay for another while longer.

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

My 'experiment' with Sam was over. I had made out with him and felt some new things. As bad as that sounded, it was true. I had begun to follow Senorita Lopez's advice and now I was about to follow the next piece. Well, actually I wasn't. I was standing outside Rachel's house waiting to be let in. I got back from Sam's after playing some video games, watching a movie and even playing some soccer with him in his back yard, and when I was up in my own room I called Rachel and – quite rudely – asked if I could come for a sleepover. She of course squealed in delight (toning it down suddenly because her mom had told her that her sister was sleeping and she would be in trouble if she woke up). So I was going to sleep over at Rachel's house, and I wasn't going to make out with her. This part of my plan was different than the one with Sam. Sam's part of the plan was me seeing if I could make out with him and feel something _romantic_. Rachel's part of the plan was to hang out with her and see if I _didn't_ feel something romantic. Only time would tell, and I didn't have to wait much longer because the door swung open and the definition of adorable stood right in front of me.

"Hi there Quinn! Come on in!" Rachel beamed and sounded so excited. It was like she had never had a sleepover before. But for once she wasn't the only adorable girl in the room. In her arms she was holding the sweetest little girl I had ever seen. She had Rachel's huge brown eyes (or, I guess her mom's huge brown eyes) and little rosy cheeks and her fine blonde hair had a soft, pink bow in it. I cooed straight away at her and tried to hold her. Rachel took hold of my bag and handed the little girl to me. She was dressed in her pyjamas – a light pink onsie with bear feet and a little bear over her hear – and she looked like she was about to fall asleep any moment. "Quinn, I would like you to meet Beth. Beth, you have the absolute pleasure of meeting Quinn." Rachel introduced us and I couldn't help but bounce her up and down in my arms, cooing little "Hellos" and "Aren't you adorable." We had barely moved from the front door when Rachel's (and Beth's) mom waltzed in through a door I guess was the kitchen. "Rachel how many times have I told you to put a hat on her head when you go to the door with Beth?"

Rachel's mom was stunning. I actually hoped my jaw was hanging open and only slightly. As cheesy as it sounded, I could definitely see where Rachel got her good looks from. They say that if you want to know what a girl will look like when she's older is to look at her mom. Well, in this moment I was looking, and I was certainly impressed. Even though it was early evening, and probably a time where she would be in jeans and a t-shirt (if not pyjamas) Rachel's mom was dressed to impressed. She had on dark blue skinny jeans, knee high black boots, a deep purple button up shirt and a black blazer. If she dressed like this all the time, then she was seriously the sexiest mom in the world. Which was a weird concept. I'd always wondered why guys thought moms were sexy, and now I understood: if they all looked and dressed like Rachel's mom, then they had my permission to think that way.

Then I glanced to Rachel and saw she was just perfect too. Wearing what she usually wore for school; plaid skirt, shirt and knee high socks. The house was quite warm so I didn't blame her for not wearing a sweater, but I could see her bra and that was making me gape for a whole other reason: so far my plan wasn't going accordingly.

"Hi Quinn, I'm Shelby. Rachel and Beth's mom." The voice of the older brunette snapped me out of my thoughts and I looked at her. Smiling I introduced myself, "I'm nice, Quinn to meet you." But then I blushed when I realised what I had just said. It was typical 'movie' and I felt humiliated. Luckily Rachel and her mom – Shelby – simply laughed at me and Shelby prized her youngest out of my arms. The baby closed her eyes and turned her head into her mother's chest. I couldn't help but coo again at her and Rachel linked my arm. "Mom I promise we'll be quiet, but can you put Beth to bed so I can enjoy my first ever sleepover?" Suddenly I felt really guilty. It really was Rachel's first sleepover. I now wished I had been cheesy and brought some stuff for us to do, like you saw in the movies. But then I realised, as Rachel began dragging me away from the mother and infant, that my tiny brunette friend had it all figured out.

In the kitchen was everything we needed to bake. I didn't know we would be baking. If I did, I would have definitely worn a t-shirt and not a school dress. Still, I could always borrow one of…no. None of Rachel's shirts would fit me. Still, that didn't matter because with a light "Ta da!" Rachel pulled out two aprons. One was her mom's (as it read 'Big Cook') and one was Rachel's (reading 'Little Cook'). As we slipped them on, I asked if she had one for Beth. "Of course," Rachel told me, and held up a tiny little pink apron that said "Littlest Cook" that made me squeal. This family of girl was just so cute. It made me wish that me and my mom had aprons like that. "At my dads' house we have aprons like it too, but they read 'Dad's Apron', 'Daddy's Apron' and 'Daughter's Apron'. They're not as cute as my mom's and mine, but they do the job of making sure our clothes don't get messy."

And did our clothes get messy.

Apparently the main point of this game was to see who could get covered in the most ingredients. Flour went everywhere! Sprinkles were tipped over and the heat from the preheated oven caused the gloopy mixture to go even gooier! It dripped down our faces and the work surfaces. I had never laughed so much; even with Kurt. Rachel threw the first bomb of flour and from there it went wild. I was really glad Shelby had put Beth to bed when she did, because I was sure the little girl would get quite agitated by not being allowed to join in. In the end, we managed to actually make some pretty good cupcakes. Three different flavours; chocolate, red velvet and vanilla. When they were in the oven, we cleaned up the mess we had made and Rachel told me what we were going to do next. She had it all planned out and who was I to tell her that sleepover activities were usually spontaneous. This was her first ever sleepover and nothing – not even a sleeping infant – was going to stop her from enjoying herself.

The only problem was, the final thing on Rachel's list was to watch a movie before bed. As we had school in the morning, it couldn't be too long or too scary. That wasn't the problem. The problem was I would have to sleep next to Rachel and she had no problem with taking her clothes off in front of me. In gym class at school, I keep my eyes focused me or a wall. Although Rachel had numerous things of interest in her room, I couldn't focus on any of them. Not when she had stripped right in front of me. She had her back turned, but she was still talking to me and I could see her muscles rippling under her skin and my jaw had once again detached itself and I was staring at her amazingly toned, tanned body. Hurriedly I put on my own pyjamas and I settled into the thankfully wide bed. Of course, because Rachel was such a tactile person, she held onto me the entire time we were watching the movie. She even fell asleep on me and when I eventually fell asleep, I felt ashamed at the fact there was a snoozing baby sleeping in the next room.

The dream I had was basically the same dream I had had of me and Rachel, only with her sleeping next to me (and cuddling me) it was more intense. I tried so hard not to make it obvious I was clenching my thighs together and even harder not to touch myself, even over my pyjamas. There was no way I was going to do that. Although I knew I would have to get up slightly earlier in the morning for my shower. My _cold_ shower.

Needless to say, this mission had failed. Where I could hang out with Rachel without romantic feelings, I definitely couldn't sleep in the same bed with her and _not _have romantic feelings.


	9. Chapter Eight: New Beginnings

**Mi Vida…Not So Loca**

**Chapter Eight**

**New Beginnings**

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

To some people, deciding what to wear in the morning is really no big deal. For the Cheerleaders and footballers (and other guys on the teams at school) there really was no hard decisions to be made about which clothing to cover themselves with: all they had to do is pick out underwear and put on a) just their cheerleading skirts or b) a pair of jeans, a t-shirt no one is going to see and a letterman jacket. For us mere mortals who do not have the privilege of wearing a uniform, we have a harder task. But I don't speak too generally. For me, I only had one option with numerous sub-choices. I can either wear a dress with a cardigan, or a skirt and a blouse with a cardigan. The sub-choices really just depend on what colour and what material, judging on the weather. Now, however, I have a little more freedom with what clothes I can wear to school. It all down to the fabulous wonder of nature: the weather!

The weather had turned and now I had convinced my parents to _allow _me to wear jeans and t-shirts. Jeans and t-shirts! I'd asked them over dinner if I could start wearing my jeans (with my reason being the cold, even though my mother said to wear tights and a thermal) and amazingly they said I could. My dad wasn't too keen on it. Being one of those 'traditional' men he wanted me in skirts and dresses all the time. I bet he would want me to go to bed in a lacy white night gown! To get him on my side (once I had convinced my mother that wearing jeans would be better for me so that I wouldn't freeze to death), I told my dad a slight lie. Being 'traditional' he of course wants me to focus on my studies and remain pure until marriage. So, what perfect way to convince him to allow his youngest daughter the privilege of dressing like a teenage girl from _this_ decade to wear jeans, than tell him that boys were perving on me? Of course, I didn't use that particular word, but I did make it sound more dramatic then it was.

I may not be a cheerleader (or a slut) but I did have a good figure – I guess. And because I wore skirts and dresses that floated and trailed all the time and showed off my legs, then of course those teenage boy hormones were going to be flying around and buzzing them. It was only natural for them to want to look up my skirt and then think of me in an _inappropriate _way. As I explained this in the most innocent and naïve of ways – adding in another lie that some boys had actually been wolf whistling and calling out things – I could just see the rage growing and cogs turning. Finally, he stopped me, saying he had heard enough. He was allowing me to wear jeans but he had to expect them. My mom had to inspect all the jeans I owned and she would match up them up with an appropriate top: heaven forbid I still didn't look _presentable_ for him.

So, I was allowed to wear what I had always wanted to wear. For the first time in this school, I felt comfortable. Walking in through the doors and through the halls no longer feeling so self-conscious was amazing! I felt like I could do anything I wanted! All because of a pair of blue material called Jeans! Thank you! Of course they were a particular style that weren't too tight or too baggy, the waist rested just above my hips and the belt was a simple black. They were all a dark navy and went well with the boots my mother picked out for me. The blouses and cardigans went with them, but I somehow managed to get away with wearing t-shirts and long sleeved t-shirts, because my mom felt they were acceptable. I honestly had no idea how I hadn't thought up of bringing up the subject of me wearing jeans before. I felt so confident! Watching the Cheerios walk passed with their swishing little pieces of fabric, I wondered how on earth they were comfortable within themselves wearing skirts all day everyday with hardly any variation. Still, I didn't care. I had my jeans and I knew it was going to be one very warm winter.

Especially because I knew Rachel and I would be spending more time together.

It seems really daft to think, let alone say, but those first few days of wearing my jeans were bliss. Rachel commented on them saying I looked good in jeans, but she didn't say I should have worn them before – why would she? A) She knew my parents didn't like me wearing them, and B) she liked her skirts so why should she impose on someone else? She was wonderful like that. My life wasn't going to dramatically change just because for the next few months I was going to be wearing jeans instead of dresses, but it wasn't that at all. What I wanted was confidence, and even though my 'experiment' may have brought up some results I didn't necessarily want, it didn't matter. I had the confidence to be myself. I could swagger and leap and dance and just do things I couldn't in a skirt, and all to show off to Rachel more of the physical me. The point is, I was still the same girl but now I could show her even more.

With these impending sleepovers too, I knew that the new beginnings were something I wanted to last for a long time.

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

The talk about what had been going on with me happened at dinner.

Most of our important talks had been at dinner.

Most of our most destructive talks had been over a dinner time setting.

This one wouldn't be one of them: we had promised each other that.

My biggest problem – personal problem – had always been that I'd never wanted to open up about my fears and feelings. When I had nightmares as a little kid, I wouldn't let on. The consequence being I was scared of the dark for years and years. When I had to go on a field trip to an adventure site during freshman year of high school for a 'fun way to physics' day, and I had to climb up a tree and zip wire down, I shouted at the teacher and instructor – calling them names and such – I got yelled at back and forced to sit on the bus for the rest of the afternoon copying out stuff from the textbook. I was scared of the height, falling down and hurting myself. The consequence being I understood the physics were taught, but not in a fun way, and I had to be moody because I wasn't allowed to join in with the rest of the fun. When I first started out at my first paying job as an assistant psychologist, I didn't speak up about a patient being rude to another member of staff, purely because I was afraid of getting fired in case they didn't believe me.

The only difference between these scenarios was that they didn't matter so much. So what I was afraid of the dark during my childhood? It meant I had an amazing ability to stay up and study when I got older. So what I was scared to explain to the teacher I was afraid of heights? It meant that I metaphorically, as well as physically, kept my feet on the ground and my head level so I got good grades and got into a good college. It meant I also worked hard on getting my driver's license before anyone else and getting a job so I could afford train rides so I didn't have to get on a plane for years. So what I was afraid of getting fired? That incident made me ballsy. After a while, it made me see that by me not standing up for the other assistant, that the patient could walk all over her. It made me realise even more not to let anyone push me around. All of these lifelong experiences made me see that I had to conquer my fears and express my feelings at some point, because although I can live with them to some extent, at the end of everything I needed to just face them.

And this was the biggest fear I had to smash. By me not telling Brittany about my feelings and expressing my fears in a simple yet detailed way, was damaging what we had. Our future was being damaged, our relationship was straining and our love was becoming harder to have. We loved each other and that love wouldn't fade, but what was the point of loving someone if they never really opened up? I'd known it all along, but I was too much of a coward to tell Brittany everything. I'd also been a coward by not stopping her from running away every time we needed to talk. If I had stopped her, then we could have sorted this whole thing out. Yes, there would have been shouting and tears but it wouldn't have been as long and hard as the past few weeks had been. If I had just been open, honest, and not afraid then everything would have been sorted.

And that was the push I needed to finally sit her down and do it.

We'd just sat down to eat our take out dinner of Chinese food – neither of us wanting to cook for once – and we each were sipping on our glasses of water. Wine was not the beverage of the evening. Even though neither of us were lightweights, we still needed our heads clear.

After several minutes of only hearing the cutlery hit our plates and the occasional loud sip of water, I put down my fork and looked up at Brittany. Sensing I was watching her, but sensing even more that I was ready to talk, she also put her fork down and looked at me. For a second, all we did was look at each other. For a second it felt like we were two sparring partners or boxes trying psyche the other one out. But the difference was our bodies were relaxed and ready. Our eyes may have been full of emotion – fear and anticipation being the dominant ones – but they were also prepared. No traces of tears were present, and in those few seconds of just looking at each other, we both knew that the tears weren't going to come for a little while.

We hoped anyway.

Clearing my throat, I looked away for a second and spoke; "Brittany I want to spend the rest of my life with you, you know that right?" My eyes flickered up to hers again to gage her reaction. Her eyes were calm still and her head nodded, urging for to carry on but also that she did indeed know that I of course wanted to spend my days with her. I also nodded my head once and licked my lips to carry on speaking. I'd envisioned this conversation to be straight forward: me telling her that I was scared of moving her and scared of starting a family, but that now I'm not scared any more. Or at least, not as scared because I realised that no matter what I would still love her and want to be with her. I wanted to make her happy. That had always been my goal. I hadn't wanted to cry, I wanted to be strong. When I opened my mouth to continue, however, my voice came out as a husky whisper and made what I saying sound dramatic and scarier than I was. "I'm not going to lie to you Brittany, because I never want to lie to you. We've always been honest with each other and that's not going to change or…or end and I-"

"Santana you're rambling." Brittany stopped me in the same tone and quality of voice as I was speaking in and she made me stop. During my little speech her face had changed slightly. It still held the serious look in her eyes, but her mouth had now woven itself into a tiny smile. Her shoulders were even more relaxed than before and this therefore made me relax. I smiled at her and saw that her hands were in front of her. In fact, not just in front of her but they were stretched out and pushing my glass of water to me. She was sweet: giving me my water so I would calm down and relax. Stop rambling and get to the point. There would be plenty of time for me to be romantic and cheesy, plenty of time for me to profess my love for her.

Taking her silent advice, I picked up my glass and chugged loudly. I'd drunk almost a third of the glass and this made her giggle. We both smiled at each other again. Remembering how we used to be; laughing at silly things the other did and being free and comfortable with each other. Still, the serious mood returned a short time later and I continued: knowing exactly what to say. I sighed – again far too dramatically for my liking – and I put my hands out on the table near hers. My fingers stretched and I wanted to hold her hands so badly. But right now wasn't the time. I could hold her hand afterwards. We could hold each other afterwards.

"I'm not going to lie to you, like I said. So here's the truth. Before we moved her I was really scared." Even though she frowned for a nanosecond, I saw it and I hurriedly carried on. "I was really scared because I know how small towns work. I know what their mind sets are like. You know too Brittany, because we both grew up in one. And…and I know that it's the twenty first century and things are different from even when we were younger and things are changing, but people still have these perceptions and beliefs." A dry laugh escaped my lips as I said the next part; "I'm surprised people haven't been knocking on our door and enquiring as to what our intensions are: two young women living together and never having any 'gentlemen callers'." Again, she giggled and nodded her head. She looked down at our fingers and hers slowly slid over to mine. They weren't touching, but it was obvious they would be soon. And then it hit me: she probably had the same fears and feelings as me, but just didn't care. That was a difference between us: she didn't care what the world thought of her and I did. It was sad, but not impossible to believe; after all it's what humans are programed to do: to fit in and assume everyone is judging them, no matter how often they were told not to.

It seemed like we were playing a pattern game: say something serious, make some sort of joke and giggle, and then get back to being serious because the serious mood returned once again. "Brittany, we're married and…somehow no one has questioned us yet. We live in a place, in a country, where same-sex marriages are not completely legal. I know that states here are making it so people like us can get married wherever they want and have it accepted legally and in the UK they are too. And that gay adoption is still debated." Frowning, I shook my head and looked down. I was going off topic again and so I jumped in again. "We're adults and we're married and we love each other. To top it off, we're girls. It's natural we're going to want to give in to our maternal instincts and biological clocks and want to have babies." My eyes flickered to hers and they stayed there. I watched as Brittany's lips pursed as she waited for my next sentence. "I know that _you_ want a baby, Brittany. You want one almost as much as you wanted me to be your wife when we first met. Right?" I then watched her bite her lip and she nodded her.

At this point, neither of us cared about it, and we linked our fingers together. We needed to hold each other. Finally I was getting to the point. Our food was probably cold and not worth eating any more. But we didn't want to eat. The food was just a distraction. We needed this talk and now I had finally got to the point. Her fingers stroked the pads of mine for a little while and then I closed my hand so I encased her slender digits in my hand. I held her fingers and stroked my thumb across her knuckles.

"For as long as I've known you, I knew you'd be a good mom. I've seen the way you are with the kids at your studio and you're brilliant with them. Not just the little ones but the teenagers too and there are no doubts in my mind that you wouldn't be the best mother in the whole world." My eyes stayed on hers and hers on mine. I hadn't blinked and neither had she. Her mouth opened and she asked quietly; "What do you feel now Santana?" It had come to the point of expressing my feelings. I knew it was coming, and she knew it too. She knew – as always – I needed a push. I'd told her my fears, or at least she knew them already and I had just confirmed them. Now I needed to tell her other part.

Swallowing absolutely nothing but biding myself time, I then took in a gulp of air. "I feel like I could be a good mom too." It came out as barely a whisper but Brittany heard it and she gasped. The tears sprung to her eyes as fast as anything and her fingers gripped onto mine. She was excited but she bit onto her lip, keeping herself prepared for the 'but' she wished would never come. Not only could I sense her excitement, I could feel it too. It was if it was running through her fingertips and into mine. I let out a little smile and sniffled. I was only meant to breathe, but I felt my own tears come to my eyes. "I'm not so scared any more Brittany. I've seen now that I was being really, really, really stupid by not ignoring stupid stuff. There's a girl in one of classes who's been partly raised by two gay guys and she's really great. Granted, she lives with her mom now, but I think she's always lived with them and been raised by them. And there's a woman, a mom to one of your little kids at the studio. She let me hold her little baby and said I was natural and said that…she said that we would be perfect parents. We would both be perfect parents because we would have to go through so much more and put more effort into having a child…we would love it so much! And then…then she said we should be allowed to have a baby. She said it like…like why not? You know? And there was this other woman who was picking up two little boys and these boys were best friends and they were holding hands and she said they were adorable. But like…she didn't care that her son and his friend were holding hands. She didn't care if either of them would be gay!" I spoke so rapidly I was afraid she hadn't heard any of what I said. But she was crying and giggling and so was I. Our fingers weren't just being held, but our hands were too and they were both trembling. The tears were flowing from our eyes and streaming down our cheeks. I had gulped and choked a few times during my little – kind of large – ramble of realisations and I gulped again as I finished.

"Brittany," I whispered as I gulped and I brought my head closer to hers. Our faces were close and I could smell Brittany's skin and almost taste her breath. "Brittany I was wrong. There may be people here who don't like gay people, but there are people who do and don't care! There are people who are raising their kids to not care too! And there are kids at my school who are gay too, I know it, and I need to show them it is okay." Smiling brightly at me, Brittany nodded her head. "I need to stop listening to my fears, Britt. They don't matter. I need to listen to you. I should have always listened to you because you are what matters. You are important to me and I'm sorry." As I tried to whisper out my apology again, I cracked and my tears turned into sobs. Brittany caught my face in her hands and pressed her gorgeous lips to my forehead. She got off her chair and went to her knees, sliding me off my chair and we pressed against each other in the first embrace that meant something in a long time.

Our arms wrapped around each other and we both cried. We cried for how stupid I had been, how afraid we had both been but more how we were going to stop being stupid and afraid. We were going to stop and focus on the future. Focus on us. Brittany rocked me back and forth, gently, like a ship on a calm sea, and I gripped onto her with everything I had. I whispered and mumbled how sorry I was and how much I loved her and she mumbled and whispered back that she forgave me and loved me back.

After a little while, Brittany abruptly pulled me head back so she could look at me. Our make-up had run and our eyes were puffy. Yet somehow the crying made our eyes look even more beautiful because there were sparkly and had absolutely nothing negative left in them. Cradling my face in her hands she asked me in a timid whisper, "Does this mean we can have a baby?" Biting my lips to stop me from blubbering again, I gripped onto her face and nodded my head. "Yes Brittany," Through the tears, mucus and emotion I whispered, "We can have a baby. We can have as many babies as you want. We can stay her and raise the family we've always wanted."

Neither of us could say anything else because our lips touched. Our lips touched and we tasted our salty tears but drank in our love for each other. It was the first kiss we had shared in what felt like an eternity and a day, and it was one of the best kisses of my life; up there with our first kiss, our wedding day kiss and the first kiss we shared as wives the day we woke up together as each other's wife.

Together we kissed and cried into the night. We knew it wouldn't be easy; the process of making a baby, having the baby and raising the baby. But that night we didn't care. All we cared about was that this would hopefully be one of our last Christmases together as a couple. After Christmas, as soon as we could in the New Year, we would be planning how to go about having a baby. We would be booking into clinics and picking out a donor and having appointments and making a baby…we would be having a baby!

Tangled up together, we lay in our bed. We lay stroking each other and kissing each other and whispering "I love you" to each other. Even though nothing was there, I still put my hands on Brittany's stomach and kissed it. When we made love that night, I couldn't help but cry at how beautiful she was. As I hovered over her, I kissed over her heart and mumbled how much I had missed her beautiful heart.

I never wanted to be apart from her and I couldn't wait to be a mother.

Most of all, I couldn't wait to be a mother with _her_.


	10. Chapter Nine: Christmas Choices

**Mi Vida…Not So Loca**

**Chapter Nine**

**Christmas Choices**

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

What is great about the Christmas holiday is that it gives teenagers a chance to be free and able to enjoy themselves without too much stress. Because we'd had our midterms we didn't need to worry too much about studying. Of course, I did study, but not all day every day. Last Christmas, Kurt and I hung out all the time. We studied together, but we had fun too. What was awesome about this Christmas was that I could alternate my Christmas vacation with _two_ friends instead of just one. It might make me sound a little weird, but I don't care: it felt great to have two different friends to hang out with. I could have sleepovers and girly days with Rachel (at either of our houses) and I could have 'tomboy' days with Sam.

It was perfect!

What was cool about hanging out with Rachel was that it showed me what life 'could be like' once I got away from my parents. Hanging with Sam showed me what life would be like once I moved away from my parents, but not enough so that they left me alone. Within the first week of the Christmas vacation, I felt like I was living two different lives or I was on some sort of reality television show that depicted the future. A voice was played inside my head one night before I fell asleep and it made perfect sense:

_Quinn Fabray, this is your life! Should you choose to follow your heart or follow your parents! You have two options. Option Number One is simple on all accounts. You hang out with Sam and lose your virginity to him, therefore tying yourself to him in an unbreakable bond. You make your parents proud by marrying him. You work as an editor, but leave once you discover you're pregnant and basically live in the shadow of your mother! It's not all bad; you love children and at least you'll be following that rule and goal you've set yourself up for: living a normal life. Of course, don't forget about Option Number Two. It's slightly more complicated. You allow yourself to fall in love with Rachel and live your life like her fathers; happy and in love but facing a few little challenges. Unless you follow more of your dream and go and live in a big city. Your parents may not understand or accept it, but wouldn't you rather be happy?_

In a way, it was the same as if accepting a job. I want to do something with books. An editor or publisher. Maybe even a real writer one day. But what if my parents didn't accept that was what I wanted to do? Would they still love me? Sure, they may be disappointed if I didn't go into…say…some sort of business or law, but wouldn't they still want me happy? Although, the reality of the matter is, I guess it would be entirely different if I were to say to them that I was in love with another girl. Loving someone is a little different to loving a job. But hadn't I lived in my parent's expectations long enough? Maybe. Didn't I deserve to be happy? Yes. Did I have the guts to do it right now? No.

With Rachel, we didn't just spend time at her mom's house; we also went to her dads'. Their arrangement was pretty simple: she lived with her mom, but had free range to go over to hers dad and daddys' whenever she wanted. Both points of view showed me two different versions of what domestic adult life was like. Her fathers were married and were together, but their daughter lived elsewhere, so it was kind of like one of them had gotten divorced and now lived with their new partner. Her mother was a single mom. Sort of. Beth was like Rachel; she was growing up with a mommy and a sister, and she was also growing up with two dads, considering her own biological dad didn't want anything to do with her. It was sad that he didn't want her and moved back to Austria, but at least having a _third_ father wouldn't completely confuse people: dad, daddy and…papa?!

Going to her fathers' place, showed me how my life would be if I chose to follow…well if I spent my life with another girl. Really, it just felt and seemed like any other life: normal. They loved each other and showed it. They loved Rachel and showed it. Simple. They were your average, normal fathers. Well, sort of. Rachel had always joked that her daddy was more like 'the mom' or 'the woman' in their relationship. It was true to some extent. He was the one that cooked us the fabulous meals and commented on the more feminine topics like clothes and Broadway. He was also home more often. Because Leroy was a doctor – quite an important one at that, I had gathered – he was home a lot later and had to work on weekends quite often, from what Rachel had told me. In this sense, he was kind of seen as the 'breadwinner', even though the both of them were as equal as two parallel lines. What Rachel and I both agreed on, was that they both were complete opposites. The only thing they really agreed on was how much they loved Rachel and how much they loved each other. Whenever I went over there, there wasn't a moment gone without at least one of them showing some form of subtle sign of affection; tucking a strand of her long, dark hair behind her ear, calling her "Pumpkin Bumpkin" instead of "Rachel" and, of course, telling her they loved her constantly, placing a light kiss on the top of her head or her forehead.

The amount of love that they all showed each other, it made me think about my own family and how _little_ amount of love is shown. When I came home from school before Christmas, I didn't speak to my mom much. She would hear me come through the door and call out to me. Once I would get to the kitchen, she would perform the standard 'motherly procedure' of asking me how my day was and then proceeding to tell me to go and do my homework and that dinner would be ready at seven – as it always was without fail. There was no love involved. Well, I mean there was but there was no real acknowledgement of care and concern. Her questions were standard and ordinary. Just what every mother was taught to ask. Sometimes I really thought she was a Stepford wife: looked perfect and behaved perfectly but had absolutely no soul.

One day I went over to Rachel's, and we arrived just as they were making dinner. The two of us had come back from watching a movie – "Life of Pi", a truly amazing piece of cinematography, really elevating the future of cinema and an excellent story, in our opinion – and we made our way into the kitchen/dining area once we had taken off our shoes, coats, hats and scarves off. We were still talking animatedly about how awesome the film was. "When that sloth popped up on to the screen, I just wanted to give him a hug!" Rachel cooed, imagining the sloth in question. "His big round, startling eyes and little wet nose were just too cute to handle!" I laughed at her eagerness to have the sloth as a pet, and I could just imagine her asking her fathers for one. "The sloth wasn't the only adorable animal in the movie," I commented, following her through the hall. "The orangutan was just-" But before I could explain how adorable she was, Rachel gasped and pressed her hand against my mouth. Like the sloth, I looked a little startled. Rachel's own eyes were wide and she shook her head at me. "Don't mention that poor little ginger ball of adorableness!" She sighed dramatically, "If only Pi wasn't so afraid of Richard Parker, he could have saved her!" Even though Rachel was being serious – the tears welling in her eyes were confirmation of just how distraught she thought the killing of the monkey was – I still couldn't help but burst out laughing at her description of it. "Seriously Rachel?" I choked out, pulling her hand away from my mouth, "Ginger ball of adorableness? That's you'd describe her?" I started to laugh loudly again, watching as Rachel huffed, stomped her foot and continued the walk to the kitchen: alone.

Still laughing, I jogged after her. "I'm sorry Rachel!" I called and gripped onto her wrist and brought her into a crashing hug, before suddenly springing away and crashing onto my knees, still holding her hand. "I'm so sorry I insulted your organgutan describing abilities, I promise I will never, ever to it again!" The splutters couldn't be kept at bay as I mock begged her for forgiveness. She rolled her eyes at me – but I could see the smirk forming on her lips – and she tugged forcefully on my hand to get me off the floor. "Arise Lady Quinn, for you are bothering me greatly!" She then dropped our hands in pretend frustration and I gave her a real hug. Losing her character focus, she began to laugh and exclaim how silly we both were; "Getting so worked up over animated animals!" To which I then reminded her that she was a vegetarian, and shouldn't she care about the welfare of _all_ animals; "Even animated ones?" Pulling back from me for a moment, Rachel frowned as she looked at my face. For a split second, I thought she was going to kiss me. My heart began to race a little, and my hands loosened from her. But then, she started to laugh again and gave me and even tighter hug, exclaiming once again just how right I was.

Just as I was enjoying the giggling, swaying body of my best friend pressed against mine, two voices and two set of footsteps were heard behind us. Her fathers were home – of course – and they were cooking dinner. We separated and upon smelling the delicious aroma that was to be our dinner, we had somehow not noticed before, we sprinted into the kitchen. Both of us hopped up onto the breakfast bar stools and watched them interact with each other. Leroy was trying to help out Hiram, and from what we could tell it wasn't going so well. Slyly, Rachel and I looked at each other, and almost in a synchronised motion we both rested our chins on our palms and watched the latest reality 'television' show: _Cooking with the Berry Men_.

As Hiram was the 'wife' in their relationship, he took it upon himself to busy himself with the cooking and cleaning. He wore his own little apron – although if they lived in a stereotypical 'gay' household it would surely have been decorated with pink hearts and flowers and a big rainbow – and had his chequered sleeves rolled up the elbows. Where a man – I think – would normally buzz around the kitchen like a bee on ecstasy, he moved around his own kitchen with the grace and elegance of a willow tree blowing in a gentle breeze. He knew where everything was and when something would be added. He cleaned up after himself too; when one spice was used he would put it straight back into the cupboard where he found it, if something spilled he would wipe it up immediately. Like my own mom, I saw that he just had this natural elegance that came with cooking. I was sure the only thing my own dad could cook, was steak and chicken on a BBQ. And that wasn't real cooking. What Hiram – and by extension Leroy – cooked was _real_ cooking. In fact, when I ate his food, I thought that he could show my mom a thing or two in the kitchen.

However on this occasion Leroy was just getting in Hiram's way. As much as he tried to help, he was clearly just annoying his husband. And they loved it. "No Leroy," Hiram would exclaim just as dramatically as Rachel had just been before over the animated animal incident, "I said a _dash_ of salt not a _pinch_!" Rachel and I just giggled at this statement as Leroy replied with (a reasonable) "What's the difference?" He shrugged his shoulders and looked into the pot that bubbling on the stove. Then I really saw the similarities between daddy and daughter. Hiram huffed, raising his eyebrows and placing his hands on his hips. A long rant then began; explaining what the difference is between a dash of something and a pinch. Rolling his eyes at the antics of his husband, Leroy looked towards us and then smirked. He winked at us and then dipped his hand in to the bag of flour that Hiram hadn't finished using. "Leroy Berry are you even listening to me?" Hiram screeched, throwing his hands into the air, and scowling at his taller husband. The disobedient husband in question nodded his head, "Of course I am listening to you sweetheart, I just thought I would demonstrate what I have learned from your valuable lesson on dashes and pinches." In his hand, Leroy had scooped up a good portion of the bag's flour and then, just as Hiram opened his mouth to explain himself, Leroy flicked his fingers and flour scatted all over Hiram's face.

Soon a flour war between the two men broke out: not before a responsible Hiram turned off the stove and moved the stew off of it. Rachel and I sat there laughing at the two grown men behaving like little kids. We ducked and cheered them on. Soon, it wasn't just flour that was being 'dashed' and 'pinched' through the air. At one point, Leroy leaped over to a cupboard whilst his husband was looking for his own next weapon, and soon an entire kilo of rice was flying around the room. At this point, Rachel stood up and began to berate her fathers on the danger of rice to pigeons. She kneeled on the breakfast far and began to shout above the laughter of her dad and daddy and explained that, in the event of a flock of pigeons flying into the window and eating the rice they had scattered everywhere, they would die and they would all be legible to being charged with pigeon murder. Her fathers laughed at her and told her to stop worrying about the pigeons and enjoy the fun. Their daughter huffed but grabbed hold of a banana. Puzzled, I watched as what she was going to do with the piece of fruit. Her impish eyes looked at me and they glistened with mischief. She peeled the yellow fruit and began to mash it up. This was the messiest I had ever seen Rachel, and when she started flinging mushed banana at her fathers, I almost fell off my chair with the hollers of laughter erupting from my mouth.

Once a truce had been agreed, Hiram took his glasses off his face once again and tried to clean them up with his shirt. Seeing as his sweater and shirt were just as filthy as the kitchen, he didn't have much luck. His little pout was sweet and I knew once again just where Rachel inherited hers from. "Oh Leroy what a mess!" He moaned, like a tired little toddler. His husband cooed at him and then wrapped his arms at the base of his back, pressing their bodies together. "Don't worry about it my little prince," he told him, lowering his face to his husband's. "You finish the dinner and I'll clean up." Hiram had wrapped his own arms around Leroy's neck and his fingers were rubbing his neck. "No Lee," he shook his head with protest, "I can't let you clean up all this mess," Leroy smiled at him softly and rubbed his nose with Hiram's and his protests were softening and becoming less worrisome. "You have papers to look over and other medical stuff for the morning to get sorted-" He was cut off by his husband's lips coming into contact with his. Their kiss was one of the sweetest kisses I had ever seen.

And in no way did it bother me that they were two men.

To me they were just a married couple completely and utterly in love.

On the hand, Rachel groaned out her feelings; "Dad! Daddy! We have company!" But of course, they were too engrossed with their moment to hear what Rachel was saying. They pulled away from kiss naturally but continued to stare into each other's eyes. Rachel jumped down from her stool and took hold of my hand, announcing that 'we' didn't want to watch the 'old people' reliving their youth. Like any teenager seeing their parents kiss, she dragged me out of the kitchen so we could go up to her room and let them continue their private moment. She loved it really, but I guess it was natural for her not to want to witness her parents kissing. Before I was completely taken away from the scene, I really saw them when they first fell in love with each other. As they nuzzled each other's noses and whispered their soft declarations of love, I didn't see them as fathers in their late forties and early fifties. I saw them as two teenage boys discovering for the first time what love really was. And it made my heart melt for them. It was beautiful and everything I wanted.

Later that evening when we were called down to dinner, the love in the house hadn't evaporated. Rachel's dads sat together and held each other's hands and kissed each other's cheeks. Hiram looked rather bashful and stroked Leroy's ear, bringing him into a sweet peck on the lips. I'd never seen my parents kiss and touch each other in such gentle ways over dinner. What I liked about them was how natural they were. Whenever my parents kissed, it seemed so deliberate and 'political'. It wasn't like they kissed in public much, but more at functions and stuff. At home, I can't remember the last time they were intimate or loving with each other. Not like Hiram and Leroy: they were truly still in love after all the years they were together. Glancing over at Rachel, I saw that her embarrassment from their first display of affection was completely forgotten about. She gave them the same doe eyed expression I was giving them and commented just how cute they were. What really made me smile, was when Leroy broke his gaze from his husband's and said that Rachel was the only cute one in their house. Hiram them playfully slapped him and then turned to me, telling me that I was also very cute and not to feel left out. It made me giggle, but mostly, it made me happy.

Being told that I was cute by a parental figure, even if they were just trying to include me in their family affections, made me feel really special. I wished that my own family were like them. Being in their home showed me just how normal and natural love was. Love of any kind. Watching them interact with each other like love struck teenagers, gave me hope that if I ever…well, they just gave me hope. As cliché as it sounded, it really did warm my heart up; like Hiram's homemade spicy butternut soup.

It was the same when I went over to Rachel's mom's house. When I was going to her mom's house, Shelby showed me what life would be like when I had a little baby of my own. It was almost the same as being at Rachel's dads' house, only a parent was substituted for a baby. And all the love and devotion was showered upon Rachel and Beth, instead of a significant other. Shelby was a great mom; she clearly loved her two girls more than what was measurable, but being pretty much a single mother was hard. Sure, she had Leroy and Hiram, but it was different. They didn't all live together of course, so they both had their separate houses and therefore, by default, their own separate lives. Because Beth was still so young, she needed help in watching her. Now that she was crawling and beginning to toddle around on her little legs more, she couldn't work and watch her at the same time. Sometimes it felt like me and Rachel really were parents. Rachel was so good with Beth. The little baby was always so happy to see Rachel and even though she couldn't really talk, she would express her joy at seeing her big sister by standing up in her crib and clapping her hands and squealing out little sounds and trying out Rachel's name (managing "Achel"), wearing the inherited Berry/Corcoran smile. Eyes lit up and gummy teeth all on show. Rachel would pretend to be just as excited; picking her up and spinning her around making the gorgeous little girl laugh and squeal more. We didn't just play with her like sisters, but we actually looked after her; like real parents. We'd feed her, change her and put her down for naps.

Beth's bath time, nap time and 'sleepy' time were probably my favourite moments when being with Rachel. Besides just having Rachel to myself when we hung out together. It was in these Big Sister/Mommy Rachel moments that I really felt my heart beating for her. She was so good with Beth, it was hard to believe that the little infant wasn't really her own. Of course, Rachel was a teenager and so she wanted to do her own thing without needing to watch her sister, and so I think she was glad that Beth wasn't really hers and she could pass her over to their mom when she wanted. But when she played with Beth in the bath or with her toys and tried to teach her things (not _just_ Broadway and singing related things), I could just imagine her as a mom. A _real_ mom.

One Thursday, I had spent the afternoon with Rachel (and of course with Beth) and Shelby had gotten a call from the Principle at Carmel High. Apparently some kids had broken into the school yard and had snowball fights in the school. They had gotten into some of the classrooms and had trashed some of the equipment. The auditorium was…to say the least, a little flooded, due to a pipe bursting and some sort snowman accident getting into the wiring. What Shelby was most upset (annoyed, furious) about, was the piano. They had taken it upon themselves to use the piano as their very own 'Snowball Storage Unit'. That piano was one of Shelby's favourite. Personally, I know nothing about music or pianos, but apparently tuning it is a very important job. And because this piano meant so much to Shelby – because she had played so many great songs on it, won so many competitions with it and for many, many other reasons – she was outraged. That afternoon, Rachel and I were in charge of Beth whilst Shelby assessed the damage of her beloved auditorium and treasured piano. Normally this wouldn't have been a problem.

Normally, however, Beth hadn't got the world's worst cold and earache.

This was the one time so far that I truly saw how hard motherhood was. Nothing is more difficult, I'm sure, that looking after a sick child. As soon as Shelby left, the little girl was screaming her head off. Rachel and I, for a moment, had no idea what to do. All day Beth had just been a little whiny. She was mostly 'drugged up' on baby medicine and was just half-heartedly playing with her toys or watching one of her colourful, singing programs. We stood in the living room just watching her change colour: from annoyed red, to "I'm going to kill someone" red. When she hit a particularly high note – that at any other time Rachel would have been proud of – the two of us stepped into action. "Ooh it's okay sweetheart," Rachel cooed, bend over and scooping her little sister up into her arms. "It's okay, it's okay," she shushed, bouncing her up and down. Where this usually worked, this time, it didn't. Beth didn't want to be bounced about and told her pain would go away. In protest to being bounced and shushed, Beth swung back one of her tiny chubby hands and screamed right in Rachel's face "No Achel!" She then smacked Rachel as hard as her just over one year old body could. Rachel cried out and I was scared she was going to drop her on the floor: a puddle of Beth was surely not something Shelby wanted to return home to.

Fearing for all of our lives, I sprinted over to Rachel and took Beth out of her arms. My brunette friend clutched at her face as if she had been slapped by some bitch in a melodramatic Broadway show; "Quinn!" She exclaimed, "She hit me! Beth slapped me! My own baby sister assaulted me!" Even though I was trying to calm her myself by sort of dancing with her, I kept my head away from Beth and looked at Rachel. I shot her a disbelieving grin. "Don't be so over reacting Rachel," I scolded playfully, "She's just a baby."

"Yes, a baby with an incredibly good arm!" Rachel huffed, stomping over to us. "What's wrong? What can we do to make you better?" Rachel asked her sister, coming slightly face to face with her. Beth just wriggled and shook her head, pressing her tiny hands to her tiny ears and trying to force the pain out. Poor Beth. I knew what it was like to have an earache and not knowing what to do about it. Her little nose was dribble yucky yellowish greenish stuff too, and the outsides of her nose looked sore and red.

Pursing my lips, I looked around the room. On the floor near the television was Beth's play mat. There were a few toys and crayons on it, along with a farmyard colouring book. "Why don't we try to distract her," I suggested, walking over to the mat, "She might forget all about the pain if she plays or colour or something?" Rachel nodded, thinking that we might as well try it. Carefully she took her still screaming little sister out of my hold and allowed me to sit down. "We're going to do some colouring Beth," she told her, passing her to me and letting me sit her on my lap. "It might make your poorly ear feel better." Once Beth was sat on my lap, she immediately tried to run away. "No!" She screamed, rolling around on the mat, clutching at crayons and flinging them around the room. Rachel and I looked at each other, scared about what to do. "Should we give her some toys?" I asked, reaching for Bunny. "Here Beth, look it's Bunny. She wants to play-"

"No!" The poor girl was tiring herself out. Her cheeks were damp and red with rage and pain. She rolled herself over onto her stomach and pushed herself up. On her little feet, she toddle the two steps to Rachel and flopped into her lap, crying out a pathetic "Achel" and sobbed into her sister's thighs.

The brunette's lip trembled and her eyes filled with little tears as she picked up Beth again. "I know baby, I know," she cooed, closing her eyes and resting her sister against her torso. The little girl clutched onto Rachel's sweater and bawled into. Rachel rubbed her back and tried to sooth her with little shushes; eyes closed and brow furrowed in concentration. All we could hear was a calming wind, that was Rachel's soothing, and Beth's loud wails. I didn't think someone so small could really cry this much. But then I remembered that babies and toddlers were pretty powerful when they wanted to be. Then, just when I thought we were about to give in to defeat, Rachel's brown eyes suddenly sprung open. "I know what we can do." Rachel announced triumphantly, as if she had just had her very own Eureka moment. Prying her sister away from her chest, she handed Beth to me and then stood up. Getting up myself, I asked what her plan was, but she simply ignored me. Her head was up in the air and her hips swayed with confidence as she climbed the stairs. Beth was intrigued as to what her crazy big sister was going to do, but she still kept up the tears and crying.

Before climbing the stairs, Rachel had grabbed a bottle of Beth's milk from the refrigerator and I had an idea of what she wanted to do. All three of us made our way into Beth's soft pink bedroom. Rachel kept the light off but turned on a star shaped light, allowing a soft golden glow to fill the room. "Put her in the crib," she instructed and I did as she asked. Once we lay Beth down in her crib and tucked her in with her bunny, her little cries turned into little whimpers. The sight of her was actually a little heart breaking. She looked helpless and pathetic. Mumbling to herself "Achel" and "Inn" but most heartbreakingly, "Oma". My parents had been big fans of the "Leave them till they tried themselves out" technique whenever my sister or I cried. I'm not sure if I really remember it or just dream and imagine it, but when I heard Beth whimper out that she wanted her 'Oma', it made me think of myself in her position: crying out for a mommy that wasn't going to come. At least, not yet anyway. Still, this was different. Rachel and I weren't going to leave Beth. In fact, Rachel took hold of my hand and she sat us down next to Beth's crib and made sure the little girl could still see us. Her large, wet eyes glistened at us and in that moment she had never looked so upsettingly adorable. One fist was gripping loosely onto Bunny and the other was holding tightly onto the bottle I had handed her. Her little lips suckered and puckered at it and her little whimpers came around it.

On the floor, watching Beth watch us, I leaned into Rachel and asked; "So what's the plan?" I asked, staring at the poorly little girl. Her soft, baby pink onesie cover chest heaved up and down gently as she breathed and sucked on her bottle. Rachel smiled at me and then smiled at Beth. "Whenever I'm sick, I find that the best thing to do is to sleep off the pain. As Beth is quite clearly in no state to fall asleep by herself, we'll have to assist her in doing so." Her head bobbed as she finished her sentence and she poked her finger through the bars of Beth's crib, lightly stroking her light honey blonde hair back. Nodding my head, I thought it was the best idea and motioned for her to start; "Take it away nightingale." Giving me one final glance, Rachel winked, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Listening to Rachel's lullaby was so soothing and beautiful, I felt like I could almost fall asleep myself. All throughout the sleepy song, I kept my eyes focused on her. I couldn't bear to take them off of her. My body felt weirdly tingly and strange; like when I watched an old French movie and the 'love' scene came on. It was strange because I felt like I was going into some kind of weird trance.

Christmas vacation was going really well. I had spent pretty much the first week just with Rachel and her family and I loved – no, adored – every second of it. I love the cooking and the banter, the singing and squealing, even the crying and changing of diapers. I loved talking to Shelby like how I wished I could talk to my own mom. One day when I was over there, Rachel was taking a shower and Beth was still asleep. Shelby was in the kitchen making breakfast and asked if I wanted to help. My mom often asked me to help her make dinner, but every time I did so, she was so overbearing and demanding and commanding and she just took away all the fun of typical mother/daughter bonding. Not with Shelby. She was making pancakes and I was basically her 'su-chef'. It was as I was whisking the ingredients together whilst she made some fresh orange juice, that she started talking.

"So Quinn, how are you enjoying it here? How's your first couple of months at Mckinnely been?" I looked up at her and saw the genuine smile and interested eyes. I stopped whisking for a minute to answer her. "It's been good thanks," I then shrugged thinking back on just how good it had really been. The classes were okay and the work was good, but Rachel and Santana had made it great. A small smile bloomed onto my face as I told her that Rachel had been a really good friend to me since moving here. "That's my girl; always making sure everyone feels welcome." Once the topic of school was out of the way, Shelby asked me questions about myself: what hobbies I had, what music I listened to, what favourite stuff was. It was just general conversation, but the more I talked to Shelby – especially when we talked about what guys were cute or annoying in films and stuff – that I realised once again just how much my own mom and I never really talked. It made me sad, but only for a moment because Rachel came down holding Beth and the four of us ate our breakfast (specially prepared by me) and enjoyed the rest of our day.

Of course, I wasn't just going to hang out with Rachel and her family, as much as a part of me wanted to monopolise all my time with the Berry-Corcoran clan, but I couldn't. I also had to hang out with Sam. We spent Christmas together and of course went to church together. The difference between our time together and the time I spent with Rachel was shocking. With Sam, everything had to be so…proper! Even when, we just spent time together without our parents and we would watch a movie or go for a walk in the snow, it felt like we had to be cautious. It was exhausting. I felt trapped when I was with him. If I was a bird, I would be suffocating enough to cause a concern. I felt like my wings had been clipped, so even if the door to my cage was open there would be no ways I could escape. I knew that that was how I was _supposed_ to feel during church and at dinner with my mother and father, but not when I was with my friends.

When I was with my friends, I was supposed to be relaxed and calm. I was supposed to feel…well…like I had freedom. Like I could say whatever I wanted and not have to worry about speaking out of term or being wrong. With Sam, as nice and kind and fun as he was, I couldn't help but feel like I was choking. Drowning on my own need to be free. Freedom was what I felt with Rachel. With Rachel, I had no worries – well, except for the fact my crush was growing and blooming more and more. But even that didn't worry me. What concerned me was how jealous I got when Rachel said she was hanging out with Finn and that we couldn't meet. That was the only time I called Sam to hang out. I guess at first I felt like I was using him for his company, but to be honest, I could kid myself into saying that it was simply a case of me finding another friend to hang out with. Nothing to worry about.

What did worry me was how lonely I felt without Rachel. Even when I was with Sam, I still felt lonely. I wanted Rachel. I wanted to hang out with Rachel and only Rachel. Actually no, I wanted to hang out with them all: Beth, Shelby, Leroy and Hiram. The more and more time I spent with them, the more they felt more and more like my family.

Christmas Day was when I felt it the most. Of course Rachel was spending the day with all of her family and that wasn't a problem. What was a problem was that this family was out of state. She had said goodbye to me and said that they would be back on the twenty seventh. She left on the twenty third and didn't get a chance to say goodbye. My car wouldn't start and it was freezing. I needed to get to Rachel but my mom and dad were out. It was typical, the one time I really, really needed them and they were both out with their charity functions. Finding no other choice, I did the only thing I could do and ran. I ran as fast as I could. I texted Rachel and told her I was on my way:

_To __**RACHEL BERRY**__: Hey Rachel! I'm so sorry, my car won't start! I'm getting to you as fast I can! Give Beth a kiss for me in case I don't have time to give her one myself. I'm on my way! _

But I didn't get a reply. I was frightened that I was too late and they had already set off and had skidded on the ice, getting into some terrible car crash. But that wasn't the worse thing. The reality was worse. I was literally about to run to Rachel's mom's house when I saw her and Finn kissing. Leroy was thumping the horn, telling Rachel to hurry up because they needed to hit the road. I could tell she rolled her eyes as she pulled away from Finn and I could also tell she was scanning the road for me. The sun must have been in her eyes because, if she had looked slightly longer or covered her eyes, she would have seen me. She would have seen me jump up and down and wave my arms around like a lunatic monkey. But she didn't see me. She got in her mom's car in the passenger side and they drove off. None of them must have seen me. I must have turned into a ghost. A little blonde ghost with tear tracks sliding down my red cheeks.

I didn't say goodbye. What I got instead was a text:

_To __**QUINN FABRAY**__: Hey Quinn! Must have just missed you. It must be true because I miss you now already ;) Merry Christmas and I'll see you when I get back :) P.S., Beth says "Gurgle, gurgle, Innn" which I am translating as "Miss you Quinn"! _

So, on Christmas Day at Christmas Dinner I felt a little depressed. Having to sit next to Sam and silently wish it was Rachel. During the dinner, I zoned out and imagined what Christmas Dinner would be like if I was with Rachel and her family. I imagined Rachel helping Shelby mash up potatoes for Beth and kissing her no doubt food covered cheeks during a photograph of the two of them. Little Beth would probably be stuffing all kinds of food in her mouth and making everyone laugh! Leroy and Hiram would be telling stories of their jobs and making everyone laugh with weird punch lines. Shelby would tuck Rachel's long hair behind her ears whisper how much she loved her, and Rachel would say the same thing and give her mom a big hug and kiss. And then Beth would want to join in! After dinner, I could just imagine the whole family sat around a piano and sing Christmas songs. Even though Rachel was technically Jewish, and it was only Leroy and his parents who really celebrated the holiday, they would still be singing Christmas songs. Rachel would be a knock out and would probably sing a beautiful rendition of 'Silent Night' or 'Oh Holy Night' that would probably put tears in all of the parents eyes. I could see it now; her grandparents and parents all sniffling and saying just how wonderful a singer she was and how they couldn't wait until she was singing on Broadway.

And if I was there, I would give her the biggest and best standing ovation she would ever receive: on and off Broadway.

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

Even though realistically, we knew we weren't going to have a baby instantly and that it would take a lot of work, time and emotion, Brittany and I still spent our entire Christmas vacation talking about the prospect of having a little baby around the house.

For the first week, I couldn't help but always have my hands on Brittany's stomach. Brittany commented on the fact that she wasn't pregnant yet and that I didn't need to hang off her all the time. "I don't care Britt," I whispered into her ear as my hands lay against her flat stomach. "I want to get as much practice in as possible!" Laughing, Brittany wriggled out of my hold and went to the refrigerator. "You don't need to practice holding my stomach, Sanny. If anything, you need to practice telling me not to lift stuff or cook or do anything for myself." She then turned around; carrying the jug of water we keep in then and walked over to me and where our glasses were. "In fact, I think you should just practice doing everything for me." Her arms pushed out and she made me grab hold onto the heavy jug as she skipped to the table and sat down. I looked down at her with one eyebrow raised. "Oh no Brittany," I told her, shaking my head and trying to contain the smile on my face. "I'm not going to be one of those overbearing partners that treats you like an invalid just because you're carrying the most precious person in the entire world." I put the jug down and slid on over to her. "I am, however, going to practice what I said I would," and with that promise, I wrapped my arms around the back of her and splayed my hands all over her torso whilst nibbling at her shoulder. Whilst she laughed and tried to get me off her, I thought about just how many things Brittany wouldn't be able to do.

A big worry that partners always have about their wives being pregnant, is that they will miscarry. I just know that if Brittany – God forbid – did lose our baby, I know it one hundred per cent wouldn't be her fault. I also know that she would be devastated. So it was my job – as well as hers, obviously – to prevent that horrifying accident from happening. Any strain on Brittany's body and mind could be fatal. So Brittany was right; I wouldn't let her carry things that I deemed too heavy and I wouldn't let her do something I believed a pregnant woman should do. The one thing I was worried about; was Brittany's job. How would Brittany be able to dance if she was pregnant? And if you weren't really supposed to tell anyone you were pregnant until you were passed the twelve week mark, how were we supposed to keep up with the charade that there was nothing untoward? It would be tough, but I was sure my amazing wife had a plan: she always did.

Even though I said I wouldn't be overbearing, we both knew I would: as soon as we were sure she was pregnant, Brittany was going to be treated like the princess I knew she was.

We spent our mornings lazing around in bed, with me touching Brittany's belly and talking to her about how amazing it would be to watch it expand. Brittany giggled and said it would be pretty cool, and joked that she had always wanted to know what she would look like as a blown up balloon. Crawling up the bed when she made that comment, I took her face in my hands and told her in the most sincere voice I could make; "You are going to be the most beautiful pregnant woman in the world." And I made the point stick by pressing a kiss to her lips. It was true though. I know that every partner thinks their wife is the most beautiful woman in the world, but in my case Brittany really was the most beautiful woman to ever exist. Ever! And pregnancy would only make her more so. Especially if that 'pregnant glow' actually existed. Which on Brittany, I knew it would.

One morning the winter sun was peering in through our open window and the curtains were fluttering and I was lying on top of Brittany. Her delicate hands were running through my tangled hair and I was staring softly at her. A light smile was playing on Brittany's face and looking at her made me smile back. Also a light sigh escaped my smiling lips and I moved my hands so they weren't on her hips and dragged them up her bod. I placed them on her shoulders began to run my palms up and down her shoulders, to her neck and stroke her cheeks. I must have tickled her because she began to giggle and wriggle a little. Hearing her and feel her giggle made me giggle and we both chuckled at each other. However, as I began to massage her shoulders, my face must have gone serious because Brittany, in a quiet, light and airy, whispery voice, asked me; "What are you thinking about?" Automatically my eyes flickered to her lips. I needed to think what I was thinking about. As weird as it sounded. But then one particularly accidentally hard tug on my hair brought me back to her eyes. The eyes I could – as cheesy as it sounded – really stare at for the rest of my life and not get bored or tired of seeing.

"I was thinking about names," Unsure if I should have admitted it or told a lie, I whispered what I was thinking. Instead of freaking out, however, Brittany just smiled again. Her lips parted and she whispered back, "I'm not even pregnant yet, Santana." Her eyebrows rose and chuckled again. Everything she did, especially in that moment, was completely adorable. "I know," I said quietly, shrugging, "But I just…I don't know. I guess I'm just really excited." She didn't say anything as I looked down passed her body and just rested my gaze on the wrinkled sheet she lay upon. Again, she tugged at my hair, but that wasn't an indication for me to speak; it was to let me know she was listening. "I just can't help but imagine," I told her, dragging my eyes away from the sheet and to her skin, "What it'll be like with a little baby in the house. Well first," I looked at her collar bone and then slowly trailed my eyes up to hers. "I keep thinking what'll be like to have a baby growing inside of you. I don't really believe in miracles," Shrugging I told her, wanting to move my eyes away from hers again but didn't, "But when you get pregnant and you have our baby growing inside of you…I don't know. I just…I can't-"

"I get it," she whispered, stopping me from my ramble. I honestly didn't really know where I was going with my thoughts.

It was true that I was excited about the prospect of becoming a mom, and I honestly couldn't wait for Brittany to be pregnant. I was still scared, but that nervous and excited scared that I was supposed to feel. The fact that I was thinking of names already really was an indication of just how excited I was. It wasn't just names I was thinking about. I was going all baby brain and Brittany wasn't even pregnant yet. We hadn't been to any clinics or had any tests or stuff done, so she hadn't even been through the process to make her pregnant yet! But I couldn't help it. With school being over for the holidays and 'The Baby Jesus' being mentioned all the time, I couldn't help but think of what it would be like when, not only when Brittany was pregnant, but when she actually had the baby! Would we paint their room in a typical boy or girl colour, or would we not? What clothes would we dress it in? Would it sleep in our room or in its own? And then, those thoughts brought me back to what I had been thinking about in the first place: what would we call it? Something Spanish for my heritage or something Dutch for Brittany's? A traditional name or a modern name? After someone we knew or loved? After a celebrity or a piece of nature? Maybe even a name of a state or a country? Or would we make up our own name like hippies did? Would we give it two names and hyphenate it or just one and give it a middle name or no middle name at all? A unisex name or a gender specific one? A name was so important! As what Shakespeare made Juliet say; "What is in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet." Would the name we gave our child be something grand and determine their future? No. _They_ would determine their future. But their name was still really, really, really important.

In her expert way, Brittany brought me away from my flurried thoughts and made me focus on her. Her smile was still sweet and subtle but her eyes were shinier and brighter than ever before. It clearly touched her that I was so excited about starting this journey of motherhood and parenthood with her. Her left hand fell from my head and instead clutched at my cheek. I could see the diamond of her engagement ring out of the corner of my eye and it made me feel all warm inside: she was mine, and soon we were going to share something so special that nothing could ever really compare. "I love you Santana," she whispered, her fingertips lightly stroking my cheek. "I love you too Brittany," I told her back leaning in slightly to press a soft kiss on her lips.

Christmas Day was great. We'd decided to have Christmas together; just together. Usually we would have a big dinner at one of our parent's houses with our families. It would be complete havoc considering how much both of our moms loved to cook, but it would still be one of the best days of the year. But Brittany and I broke the news to our parents that we wanted to spend Christmas just together – we left out the fact that we wanted a Christmas where we were _completely_ by ourselves. Neither one of us wanted to tell our parents we were planning on starting a family. We'd agreed it was something private and only for us to know about. Obviously when Brittany became pregnant, we would tell them. But this Christmas, we wanted to be relaxed and free to just be together. Just the two of us. It was going to be our best kept secret. Every time we spoke to one of them on the phone, and they asked us how we're feeling, it would be really hard to lie and not say "Super excited because we're closer to becoming moms!" But we had to. Especially before we even went to a clinic and really began the process of becoming pregnant.

As soon as we woke from our slumbers, we had Christmas Day sex and got tangled up in the sheets. We didn't care how loud we were, because somewhere nearby a church was ringing its bells and we thought it would be fun to match the ringing. When we were working ourselves up, Brittany had pointed out that what if some children heard us. In reply, I gripped onto her face and told her, "They'll be too busy opening presents and playing with them to care about what an amazing orgasm you are about to have." I winked at her and then we resumed with our Christmas Day 'workout'. Once we were showered and dressed, we made our way – hand in hand – down the stairs and to the tree. It was only small, because we didn't like the idea of cutting a tree down just to decorate it and have presents under it, but it was still pretty. Brittany had gasped when she saw the presents. When we had our child, there would be more presents (once they were old enough to enjoy opening gifts). I had only told Brittany I had got her one gift, but really I had got her three. It wasn't a massive number, but we didn't need massive amounts of presents: we had each other and that was it.

Together (once we each had a cup of coffee and turned on the radio) we sat at the foot of the tree and beamed at each other. "You go first!" Brittany squealed, reaching under and grabbing the gift she had bought me. I laughed at her giddiness and shook my head: the evidence of how good a mother she would be was shining through once again. "Okay, okay I'll open it!" I told her, and took the gift from her outstretched arms. Before I could fully take it from her, however, she crashed our lips together and gave me another Christmas Day kiss. "Merry Christmas Santana," she whispered against them and then sat back so she could watch me open the gift. It was a large rectangular box and was a little heavy, decorated in green and red Christmas paper. I set it on my knees and as I began to rip it off, Brittany bit her lip and said; "I'm sorry it's the only gift I got you. I hope you like it," and then she began to ramble on about how if I didn't like it she still had the receipt and could send it back. Grinning at her, I crumpled up a piece of my wrapping paper and put it in her mouth. She spluttered a little and gave me a mock glare. Still laughed, I winked at her and pressed a kiss to her nose, crawling to her to do so.

Once the paper was off, I was left with a black box and decorated in silver writing that read the name of my favourite designer: Emporio Armarni. I gasped when I saw what she had bought me and my eyes widened ever more. A whisper of shock escaped my lips, "Brittany," but I wasn't allowed to continue as she lifted the lid of the box off for me. There, sat in my lap was a beautiful – yet practical – coat. It was grey and black flannel and it looked warm and snuggly as well as comfy and fashionable. Lifting it out of the box I saw that it would come just above my knees and the sleeves were long enough so I didn't need to wear gloves – because I always forgot my gloves. Finally, I tore my glistening eyes away from the gift and looked at my amazingly thoughtful wife. "Brittany," Still in awe at my gift I shook my head. "This is too much, this must have cost-"

"Never mind how much is cost Sanny," she shushed me and leaned over so she could wrap the coat back in the box and keep it clean in case one of us spilt our coffee. She must have got it before we had our spat, or she must have found the courage to buy me such a gift during it. And that made me love her more. The fact she bought me something so special and expensive, made me feel so grateful. Raising my eyebrows at her, I shook my head and thanked her quietly, before taking her hands in mine and kissing her again; showing her all the thanks and love in the world.

My gifts to Brittany were clearly nowhere near as expensive and classy as the one she gave me and I felt a little bad about it. Still, Brittany loved her gifts. The first one she opened was a new pair of sweats with a matching hoodie. They were sky blue and I had sewn on little ducks – no doubt they would fall off, but Brittany loved them. She said she would wear it every day and would special care to make sure none of the ducks fell off. The second gift was an A Four size journal, again, decorated with ducks and love hearts. On the inside page I had written a little note for her, just so she could think of me whenever she was going to write in it;

_**Dear my Darling Brittany,**_

_I love you so much and I love the memories we have had, have, and will have together. It is a shame that the time machine you built in college didn't work, and we haven't yet been able to travel into the future to see if we could 'borrow' a machine to keep our memories from fading and disappearing. That being said, who needs machines? This book is so you can write down the memories, take pictures them and keep everything we have (like love and admiration and adoration) down in this book. I hope you use it whenever you think something amazing or special happens. _

_**Forever yours, Santana x**_

Just as I thought, Brittany loved it and she said she would start filling it up as soon as possible. Starting with Christmas Day! But before she could get up and get her camera and pen to start taking pictures and writing things down, I pushed to her the final present. It was a gift I only bought a few days prior and this was the gift I was most nervous about. Where I knew for sure Brittany would love her sweats and hoodie and would really enjoy the book, this gift was different. I wasn't sure if I was pushing my luck or being annoying, especially with my behaviour. Still, Brittany took hold of the gift and thanked me with a kiss to my cheek. It was small and rectangular and, just like with the other two, she held it to her ear and shook it. Like a little child she sing songed, "I wonder what it is" and then began to open it. I held my breath as I watched her rip the last piece off.

In her hands she held a pregnancy test box. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, and like a puppy she tilted her head. "You bought me a pregnancy test?" I knew then that I shouldn't have and went to grab it out of her hands so I could get rid of it. She moved her hands out of my reach and took hold of my wrist. Our eyes met and I started rambling my apologies. I knew I shouldn't have bought her one. I knew it was too soon: as I had to keep telling myself, she hadn't even been inseminated yet. We hadn't even picked a donor! But before I could say how sorry I was again, she put her hand across my mouth. "It's incredibly thoughtful," she whispered and I saw her eyes shining again. "It's a great gift because now, when I get to use it, I'll think of this day and remember how this could be our last Christmas together as a couple." At her words, I then suddenly burst out crying. I was so happy and couldn't express my love in any other way than crying and telling her again – in a pyjama clad heap on the floor of our living room – just how much I loved her.

The rest of the day was amazing and relaxing. We cooked together, sang and danced together all around the house and we even ran outside to build a snowman when enough snow had fallen. When we lay in bed together than night, snuggled up because of how cold it had suddenly become, we both bit our lips with glee at the possibility that this could be our last Christmas just us. Brittany had herself resting on my body and had her head lying on my chest. I kissed the top of her head and held her to me; not wanting to let her go at all, when she whispered; "Can we start looking for a donor?" With absolutely no hesitation, I nodded my head and whispered back strongly, "As soon as the hype of the New Year is over and the clinics open, we're going to the fertility clinic and getting things moving." My (at this moment tired) bubbly blonde wife squealed quietly and asked if that was true; if we would really start after the New Year was in. Squeezing her back and closing my eyes I whispered: "As soon as we wake up on January second, we are going to the clinic and we are going to pick out a donor and then, as soon as we're happy with who we've picked, we'll get you pregnant."

That night, on Christmas Day night, we dreamt of the life we really were going to have: the two of us a baby.

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

I swear the day Rachel came back was the happiest day of my life. She had only been gone for a few days, but I missed her so much. Unfortunately, so did Finn and I had to share her with him when she came out of her car. At first I thought her mom's car hadn't completely stopped moving she jumped out of it so fast. I felt a little smug as she jumped and wrapped her arms around me first and then moved to Finn. As she held me she squealed into my neck just how much she missed me. Pressing her into my body as tightly as I could (without hurting her of course) I told her just how much I missed her too, even if it was a little muffled! But then, she jumped over to Finn and got lifted into the air but his gigantic muscles. Then, as she laughing and squealing in what can only be described as 'teenage joy', Finn put her down, cupped her cheek and kissed her.

From my spot on their drive, I watched with a slight jealous rage as they kissed. I was thankful for Shelby coughing and clearing her throat, and Beth giggling at them, because to made them pull away and stop. Finn, being the gentleman he was, then moved to the trunk of Shelby's car and took out their bags, offering to carry them into the house. Rachel then cooed at him, ruffling his hair by standing on her tiptoes, and linked her arm with me. "It's good having Finn around," she sighed dreamily, "Because he's so muscular it means he can do all the heavy lifting and we can watch him do it!" She then began to giggle as we skipped into the house and listened as Finn talked to Shelby about how her Christmas was: being the ever polite boyfriend-of-the-daughter he was.

For the rest of that day, I felt like the third wheel. I sat on Rachel's bed whilst she and Finn messed around whilst trying to unpack. Usually Shelby didn't allow Finn up in Rachel's room, but I guess it was because I was there, it was okay. Still, I wish he had stayed downstairs and talked to her. I had heard him and Puck talk about how 'hot' they thought Rachel's mom was, so I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have minded. Still, even though I wasn't the sole focus of Rachel's attention that day, I didn't mind. I got to see Rachel and wish her a Merry Christmas/Happy Chanukah in person.

Later on in the afternoon, Shelby had ordered pizza and we were all in the kitchen munching on it when Rachel brought up the topic of the Spring Dance. "Quinn we have to try and find you a date for the Spring Dance, it's coming up soon and you need to find someone." I honestly hadn't thought of it and didn't think it would be a problem. Swallowing my slice of vegetarian pizza, I frowned at Rachel in confusion; "Couldn't I just go with you?" A little laugh spluttered from Finn's lips and he wiped his mouth of BBQ sauce. "No way Quinn!" He exclaimed, dumping his crust into yet more BBQ sauce, "You can't go with Rachel, she's my date. It would be weird and annoying." As the great lump of teenage boy shoved his crust into his mouth, I moved my focus onto him. "It wouldn't be weird; it would be perfectly normal for me to want to go to a school dance with my best friend." Finn then proceeded to munch on another slice of his peperoni pizza, looking at me with a sympathetic face. "Quinn, you can't go to a school dance with your best friend. It's a _school dance_. You need to go with a date!" He then laughed and shook his head, looking at Rachel for a backup. Rachel, however, gave a look of sympathy (and I could feel Shelby doing the same as she cut up bite size piece of plain pizza for Beth). "Don't worry Quinn," she said, reaching over Finn to hold my hand for a moment. "We'll find you someone to date." Even though I was still a little upset that Rachel was still going with Finn, I smiled at her and nodded my head.

We then continued eating our dinner, discussing our Christmases. I didn't care about how Finn had gotten a new bike and couldn't wait until the snow cleared so he could go riding down the town on it without crashing into someone with Puck. I didn't care what he had to say. All I cared about was listening to how Rachel spent her Christmas. How she had awoken with Beth and sang her a Christmas song as they crept down the stairs and made coffee for all the adults and a special treat of chocolate milk for the littlest member of the family. Rachel told me how her grandparents had mostly given her money to put towards college, but her grandmother on her dad's side had knitted her a sweater with a golden star on the front. She beamed when she said she couldn't wait to wear it for school. I couldn't wait to see her wear it, purely because stars were her favourite and if she was wearing something that was her favourite, I would get to see her smile all day.

And her smile was my favourite thing in the world.

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

With the New Year only a day away, Brittany and I were just full of excitement. What we had found was that the best way to get rid of excited energy was to go for a run. Well, in this weather, neither of really wanted to run the possibility of breaking our legs. Instead we went for a walk. And this was one walk I never wanted to happen again.

Britt and were walking along the main street of where we lived; side by side and looking in all the windows with their huge red sale signs up. I wore my new coat with pride and Brittany wore her hoodie underneath all of her other layers. She wasn't lying when she said she was going to wear it every day! Every time I told her that it would get dirty way too quickly if she kept wearing it as often as she was, she still wore it. It was as we were peering in through the window of a bakery we hadn't tried yet, deciding which cakes were would want to devour, when the shrill sound of a baby crying ricocheted around the snow covered street. We then heard shouting and screaming.

Fearing that the baby was hurt, Brittany and I looked over across the street to where the sound was coming from. As soon as my eyes sought out the destination of the sound of the baby, I saw two of my students: Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray. Together we both held hands and watched what all the fuss was about. The baby was wrapped up in a pale pink poofy coat and screaming at the top of her tiny lungs. The mother – who was holding the baby – was trying to shush her and hand her other arm wrapped around Rachel, trying to keep her at bay. The 'fuss' was that Rachel's two fathers were being yelled at by two other men and clearly the baby, Beth I think Rachel had said her name was, was crying. Rachel was crying too and Quinn was trying to calm her down.

"Leave them alone!" The young brunette screamed, but the men ignored them. "Leave my dads alone!" But the men ignored her still and their rowing became physical. Soon, the taller and more built up of the husbands got pushed. His smaller husband tried to stand in the way, but got shoved backwards as well because his fingers lightly brushed the man who was doing the shoving. "Don't touch me you fag!" The man yelled, spitting at the smaller man with glasses. "Hey, why don't you just leave me and my family alone?" Rachel's dad said, getting up in the other men's faces. "Family?" The man smirked, "You fags shouldn't been allowed a family." Then Rachel's dad mumbled something and the man didn't like it. He screamed at him and then punched him.

Scared for her dad, Rachel ran out of her mother's arms and tried to stop them. Quinn, however, ran after her and held her back. By this point, Rachel's dad was on the floor, holding his nose and being laughed at by one man and shouted at by the other. It was then that me and Brittany, still hand in hand, ran across the street and tried to help. "You better run because I'm going to call the police you scum bags!" I screamed after the two idiots that caused Rachel's dad to bleed. Rachel's mom was calling to the men – Leroy and Hiram – asking if they were okay. She had taken the girls and kept them out of the way: the best place to be, but I could see that Quinn and Rachel really wanted to step in too.

"Oh my goodness, are you okay? Did they hurt the baby?" Brittany asked, picking up a little bunny rabbit the little girl had dropped and trying to get her to take it as her mother – Shelby – rocked her and shushed her. "No, no they didn't hurt her," Rachel's mom said and went on to explain that she was just a little scared because of the shouting. I didn't listen to any more of their conversation, as I was too busy helping Rachel's dad stop his nosebleed. The little baby – Beth – was crying still and so it was hard to hear them talk any way. Rachel's dad – Leroy – was sat on the ground holding a tissue to his nostrils and pinching the bridge of his nose. His husband crouched with him. I squatted down too and put my hand on his shoulder. "How's your nose, is it broken?" I asked, afraid in case we needed to go to the hospital as well as call the police. Rachel was being held by Quinn and sniffling. I was glad that neither of the girls had gotten hurt. I wasn't glad, however, that no one else on the street had decided to step in and help.

Leroy shook his head and grumbled that his nose wasn't broken, just a little sore. "Thank goodness for that Leroy!" His husband sighed and kissed his cheek, then taking away the bloody tissue and handing him another in case he needed it. I crouched down beside him; taking hold of one Leroy's arms and helping Hiram get him up on his feet. As we were struggling to get him up, Beth stopped crying and Shelby put her in stroller so she could settle again. We both helped Leroy back to the girls and Rachel flung her arms around him, crying out "Dad!" and cried into his belly. "Thank you for helping us," Hiram said to me and Brittany, whilst Leroy shook his head and calmly shushed his daughter, stroking her hair. Brittany stood next to me again, smiling at the family. "I'm Santana," I introduced, holding my hand out to Hiram, "By the way. Santana Lopez. And this is my friend, Brittany…" I looked over at Brittany for a second. I was unsure whether to call her my 'friend' or 'roommate'. Just because Quinn knew about us, didn't mean the parents should too. Even if they were gay themselves. But Brittany smiled at me, reassuring me by introducing herself as simply Brittany Peirce: her maiden name. The two men shook our hands and then Shelby and I introduced myself as Rachel and Quinn's teacher.

"Oh well, we're very sorry you had to see that," Hiram gushed; linking his arm with his husband's and hold his hand. Rachel was wiping her tears and Quinn held her in a hug to make sure she was okay. Brittany smiled, shrugging her shoulders, "It's not a problem. Does it happen a lot?" We both feared for the answer, not just for ourselves but for Rachel, Beth and our own baby (when we had one). Luckily the two men shook their heads and explained that the most homophobia they got was a few shouts at them. Generally though, the explained, they were left alone. This reassured us and we both breathed out a sigh of relief. We left the family to continue with the day, and we walked home, suddenly losing our cake appetites.

The incident shook us up. Brittany was worried that it would make me not want to have a baby any more, but as we cuddled on our couch listening to some music, I reassured her. She was lying on top of me and I was rubbing circles into her lower back. Quietly she asked; "You still want a baby, right?" My movement stopped and I felt her tense. She turned her head to look at me. Her lip was being bitten hard and I pressed my fingers against her lips to make her stop. "Of course I still want a baby," I whispered back and removed my fingers once I felt her lip being released. "If anything, it makes me want to have a baby more." She frowned at what I meant and I pushed her head gently back down so it rested on my chest once again. "I can't wait until your pregnant so I can flaunt in every homophobic asshole's face just how beautiful you are bringing a new life into the world." Even though I couldn't see it, I knew she was smiling. She sighed and pressed a kiss onto my chest. "I love you Santana," she told me with a little light voice. In return I kissed her head and stroked her hair, telling her I loved her back, and waited for us to slip into an afternoon nap.

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

As much as I didn't want to think about it, especially after what had happened to Rachel's dad, I couldn't stop worrying about the fact I needed a date for the Spring Dance. Even though it was in April, I still needed to start planning now. I knew the easiest way to go about it was to simply go with Sam. But at the same time, I wanted to go with someone I liked. I knew I would have to stop leading Sam on and just tell him that we weren't going to happen. Hopefully by the time of the dance he would have met someone else. As for me, as weird as it sounded, I knew exactly who I wanted to go the dance with. And there was no way she could be classed as my date. Well, not really anyway.

It was quite easy to find out where she lived: there weren't that many Lopez-Peirce's in Lima! When I drove up to their house, I silently wowed. Their house was pretty cosy. It was a lot nicer than mine. My house was way too flashy. Their house just looked warm and friendly. I think that was what part of the reason why I relaxed and wasn't so frightened when I rang the doorbell.

It was few minutes before the door opened and Santana looked particularly surprised that I was there. "Quinn," she exclaimed, a little shocked. "What are you doing here? Are you okay?" I smiled at her and nodded my head. She was dressed even more casually than when I see her for my tutoring: still in her flannel pyjamas in fact. "Hi there Santana, um…yeah I'm good thanks. I was just…I was wondering if I could ask you something." My teacher raised her eyebrows and looked around. "You had to ask your question now?" Again, I nodded my head and took a deep breath. "I was wondering if you would go with me to the Spring Dance." Her eyes practically bogged out of her head with surprise. "I mean, there's no one I feel comfortable with and Rachel is going with Finn and I'm letting Sam go and…well…I just wondered if you'd go with me?"

For a little while, she still looked as shocked as anything. I feared she would say no. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, murmuring something. But then, to my surprise she sighed and said; "I can't say no to those pleading eyes." I wasn't even aware I had been using 'pleading eyes'. I left her house with a little skip in my step: I was going to the dance with Santana and I was really happy. Now all we had to do, was make it look as natural as possible.

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

Going back into my home after speaking with Quinn, I couldn't believe what I had just done. It wasn't a date, I was going to make sure she knew that but I still couldn't believe it. As the countdown began and the fireworks went off I realised that I had two missions for the New Year: have a baby with Brittany and help my student, Quinn.


	11. Chapter Ten: New Year New Start

**Mi Vida…Not So Loca**

* * *

**Chapter Ten:**

**A New Year, New Step**

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

For most couples, having a baby was a pretty easy and natural thing to do. If having a baby was a recipe, then it would go something like this:

_**Ingredients:**_

_One man _

_One woman _

_A bed (optional in some cases) _

_Love _

_**Method:**_

_Have sex_

If it only it was that simple for me and Brittany. Generally it would be the same; our recipe would just be slightly different. Instead of 'one man' we just needed 'sperm' and Brittany's eggs and mix them together. And instead of a bed where this baby making method would take place, we'd be in a clinic. What would be the same, however, would be the amount of love Brittany and I had for each other:

_**Ingredients:**_

_One Brittany_

_One Santana_

_Love (Lots and lots of love)_

_Clinical bed_

_Sperm_

Where 'love' features in these two 'recipes' unfortunately it isn't always added into the mix. Sometimes with some couples it is replaced by 'lust' - an overpowering need to have sex.

Over the years we had lounged around together and watched televisions shows about people who would fight over custody of their children or they would have to perform DNA tests on their children because the woman didn't know who the father was or watch men scream and shout at women for having babies after one night stands. Over the Christmas break, Brittany and I were watching a show about a guy who came over from England to help people with their domestic issues. On one of the shows, Brittany got upset because of how little this one guy cared. He had been with this girl and cheated on her several times and was on the show to get DNA tests on three different babies. He was convinced that the one he had with his girlfriend wasn't his and had a screaming match with her, denying that the kid was his. It turned out – as I had had guessed – that the baby was his and only one of the other two babies wasn't his. It made me angry to think that some of these people could sleep around and not care about the consequences.

Clearly having a baby was a big deal. There are people out there who simply cannot have children, no matter how hard they try, they just can't get things to work and they have to spend their lives either just being alone and bitter, or adopting. I actually have a lot of respect for those couples who can't conceive naturally and adopt. There's just something amazing about having your own baby, but as these programmes show, it's sometimes so unfair that people can't feel blessed with what they have. The guy on our show was on drugs and partied all the time and didn't pay any money towards his kid. It made me sick and it made Brittany cry.

"San we'll love our baby so much more than this jerk could ever love anything! Ever!" Brittany had cried and then she suddenly put her face in her hands and sobbed. I turned off the television as quickly as I could and held her in my arms, rocking her back and forth. "Brittany," I began, biting my lip with anger at this guy on the show, "Our love for our baby will never compare with this guy." Brittany sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve, but I didn't care because I had to tell her just how different parents we would be. "In fact," I continued, shaking my head, "That guy isn't worth the title of parent. He is a jerk and our baby will never be able to say that about us. We'll clothe it and feed it and provide for it, but most of all," I then picked her face up so that she was facing me. Her eyelashes had droplets of tears on them and her eyes themselves were as pink as her flushed cheeks. "We will love her so much that no one else will ever be able to compete." I smiled at Brittany and brought her head to rest on my shoulder so she could let out the rest of her tears in my comforting arms.

Since deciding once and for all that we'll have a baby, I couldn't help but wish it were possible for me and Brittany to just make love and for me to impregnate my wife. I would dream about us coming together in that special, intimate way and then holding each other whilst we wait for the result of a pregnancy test. We'll still do the latter, and we'll still make love but there is just something so special of making a baby _naturally _together. Of course, we'll still make our baby together, but it would always be a bitter feeling of mine that I couldn't be the one to impregnate her myself. And I was sure Brittany felt the same way. It was possible, we found out, that we _could_ use a home insemination kit to make it more natural, but I personally didn't want to risk anything. I didn't want to hurt her and I didn't want to mess it up. Having a doctor do it would cancel out either of those things happening.

After the New Year celebrations were over, I stuck to my promise and booked Brittany in to the clinic for an appointment. I'd done some research and knew kind of what we had to do: Brittany would get her uterus checked out and made sure it was healthy; she'd have some other tests done to make sure her overall health was okay and then we would have a talk about what we wanted. I was torn between what I 'wanted'. If we could do everything naturally, I would of course want to make love to her and get her pregnant that way. But I couldn't. It was possible we could do inseminations at home, but I was scared of the risks of things not working or going wrong. Overall, I guess it wasn't up to me. I wanted to get Brittany pregnant with the help of a doctor so then we knew for certain it was being done right. Sure I wouldn't like it that someone else got to 'get her pregnant' but I would rather have her pregnant right and done in a clean, medial, safe way than just in our room where anything could go wrong. Ultimately, however, it was up to Brittany and I would of course go with whatever she wanted. She was my world, and this would be _her _pregnancy. She had to be comfortable and her comfort was most important. Almost…her safety was important to me.

At our first meeting with the family fertility clinic, we discussed with the doctor everything from uteruses to sperm. It was a little scary. In fact even before we got into the building, I was scared. It was an hour or so car ride to the clinic – which was both a blessing and a curse, considering there was no chance anyone we knew would be there – and the whole way I was trying to envisage how the appointment was going to go. Considering it was a clinic that specialised in conception, it was expected that other couples like me and Brittany were going to be there. The doctors were probably used to gay couples with surrogates and lesbians going with the hopes of having a baby through sperm donors. As well as two women wanting to have a baby, single women wanting to become mothers were probably a familiar sight too. I imagined if Rachel's mother hadn't gone to the hospital for help and advice on having a baby on her own she would have come to this clinic too in the first place. I wondered if this was where Rachel's life really began.

As usual, my amazing wife must have noticed I was nervous. Usually when we drove somewhere her fingers would be running through my hair, tugging lightly at the strands and then scratching my scalp, or her hand would be placed on my neck and those same fingers would be stroking and rubbing my tanned skin. As some point during the ride, her hand had slipped from my neck and began rubbing and squeezing my shoulder, then it went away from my head completely and rested lightly on my knee. Her strong fingers gave a light squeeze and with a smile she asked if I was okay. Still looking at the road I smiled quickly back at her and said that I was fine. With a light chuckle she shook her head.

"Do you want to give me a real answer, sweetheart?" From my peripheral vision I saw her raise an eyebrow at me and a smirk. I'll probably never know if she has some sort of 'sixth sense' or just a 'Santana sense'. I'd like to think I have a 'Brittany sense', but then I think it's because we're both intellectually different. Where I have always been 'book smart', Brittany has always been more in tune with feelings and emotions – projecting them through dance, a kind smile and listening ear. I remember when we were looking at colleges, I told her she should do some sort of nursing or psychology degree like me because she would be the world's most compassionate and world's kindest nurse or therapist. She laughed and shook her head; saying she would leave all the smart stuff to me. "Tell me what's really wrong, Santana." Her tone was soft and comforting, as well as her squeezes and strokes on my knee and thigh. I sighed and shook my head slowly, not dismissing her but just thinking. Shrugging my shoulder – and coming to a slow stop at a red light – I turned my head and looked at her beautiful, sweet face and eyes. "It's the same stupid thing," I told her, rolling my eyes at myself for worrying _yet again_ of what other people think. "No one is going to be mean to us, Santana," she told me in an even softer tone. She was quiet and soft, so much so that I really almost didn't hear her. My lips twitched into a smile and I nodded my head; "I know…I just worry for us." Instead of talking, Brittany closed the smallish gap between us and pressed a quick, soft kiss to my lips. When she took her lips off mine, she kept them resting against my own and mumbled; "You worry too much, you'll get wrinkles." I laughed and asked if she would still love me with wrinkles. Laughing she nodded her head and we kissed again, only to be interrupted by a car beeping its obnoxious horn.

We carried on driving, and like some magic spell that just been cast, my fears of what the other people in the clinic would think of us disappeared. I had to keep reminding myself: we were all human, we all wanted a baby and we all had that right to have a child and to be parents. Just like it says in the good old Declaration of Independence, "All men are created equal". Ignoring the politics of the time and focusing on the politics of today, we have just as much right as any other couple to have a child and fulfil our mothering desires. Instead of all _men_ being equal, in our book all _women_ are created equal. Brittany has the right to be a mommy and I have the right to be a mom. Simple and clear. If only the biology was more so!

In the waiting room, we held our hands clasped together and sat as closely together as we could possibly be. Sitting with us were three other couples; one was a young couple around our age; the wife was tanned, dressed in leopard print clothes and wore bright lipstick where her husband was pale and had his light brown hair parted to one side and dressed all in green. Another couple were slightly older but the wife was clearly already pregnant. Her husband wore a tight smile and had wide eyes: clearly nervous or scared about something. Finally the third were the oldest. The woman looked about forty, grey roots, a few wrinkles and light bags under her eyes, and the husband about forty five; his hair a dusty blonde colour and was receding back. They were probably the most scared of all of us couples. The wife's hand was shaking in her husband's and I felt really sorry for her.

Just like in any waiting room the tension was thick and heavy. No one was talking or even whispering. No one was reading the magazines that were laid on the table. Everyone was just silent. I always wondered why people were in doctor's surgeries and always tried to guess why they were these. I guess in our situation, it was obvious: we were two women, clearly in a relationship – judging by our hands clasped together and I had pressed several kisses to Brittany's temple since we had arrived – and we wanted to have a baby together. For the couple similar to our age, only the guy looked scared so I guessed he was the one coming for some sort of fertility treatment. When I looked a little closer at his face, his cheeks were slightly tinted. His girlfriend (or wife) had her hand on his knee and tried to keep it still. The older couple were both as white and pale as snow and the woman had tear tracks clearly on her face. Due to their age, I guessed they were one of the world's unlucky couples who hadn't been able to conceive naturally and were getting themselves checked out. The woman looked as if she could burst into tears at any moment and the sight broke my heart. Her husband had his arm wrapped around her and copied the action I had done to Brittany; kissed her temple and her cheek lovingly, however his eyes were closed and he sighed heavily, showing exhaustion and stress.

Brittany saw the action too and couldn't take their sadness any longer. I found myself thinking back to the television shows we had watched about couples who were drinking and taking drugs, sleeping around and not knowing who fathers were and generally not treating their kids well. I felt angry that this couple – who I didn't even know – clearly loved each other, and yet couldn't have a baby of their own. It was so easy for some people to hook up, have a one night stand and then find out they had made a mistake. At this moment in time, we didn't know if Brittany's uterus would be able to carry a baby. No one really knows until they try to, but it was more likely than not that she was healthy enough to have and carry a baby. Even if – God forbid – a scan or test showed something wasn't quite right, judging by her age it was, again, more than likely that something could be done about it. Looking at the woman opposite us, she may not have been so lucky. As with all things, with age thing get damaged and break. With Brittany being in her twenties, it was easier for her to get better, but with this woman twenty years older than us both, it wasn't so easy.

Before I knew what was happening, Brittany had detached her warm hand from mine and stood up. She began to walk over to the older couple, not caring that this wasn't the usual thing to do in a doctor's office, and crouched down in front of the woman. She looked up at her with her beautiful blue eyes and placed her hand on her quivering knee, similar to what she had done to me in the car. "Hey," she spoke softly and made sure the woman and her husband looked at her before she introduced herself. They had flickered their eyes down to Brittany's; the man frowning slightly and the woman just looking a little blank. "My name's Brittany Lopez-Peirce," she then pointed behind her to me and said, "And this is my wife, Santana." Giving her attention back to the couple, we saw her husband look up and nod at me but then put his focus back on his wife and then Brittany. "Do you want to talk about anything? You look really sad and I just want to know if I can help?" I'd never been so proud of and yet scared for Brittany. I wasn't sure if this was the best topic to have, if at all. Yet to my surprise, the woman smiled at Brittany and sniffled. I had expected her to just shrug and ask her to leave. Go away, head back to her seat and leave them alone: I was sure that's what I would do if I were in her position. To my surprise, she didn't do that. She composed herself as best as she could and said; "We're just having a little…" She then paused and looked at her husband, who sighed and looked down at his lap. She sighed heavily, as if the action of talking was just too much. "Actually, we're having a lot of trouble conceiving." She sighed heavily again and wiped her eyes. "We're not sure what's wrong," she then shook her head, clearly distressed. "If it's me that's wrong or if it's-"

"There's nothing wrong with us sweetheart," her husband interrupted with a slight disgusted tone at her suggestion. "It's just taking longer than we hoped." He then turned to Brittany and sighed again. "We've been married fifteen years and yet we still haven't been blessed with a baby and it's just…God it's just so frustrating!" He thumped his fist on his thigh and sighed heavily into his hand.

Everyone else in the room nodded their heads in sympathy. Hearing him say that they hadn't been blessed with a child hurt; it felt so wrong that they hadn't been able to have one. Being married for that length of time and not having any luck must have been tough. Brittany and I had been married for a year, and yet we were trying for a baby. I then felt bad about what could have happened if Brittany and I had left having a baby for fifteen more years. It sounded impossible and my heart went out to them. Sure, they had the option to adopt. Everyone had the option to adopt, but it's so different then having your own baby. A baby is what makes a family, whether it's biological or not, but I think everyone would want their own child: someone that was their own flesh and blood. Any child is a blessing but it's still hard not to want your own. I hope that someday I'll be able to be in Brittany's shoes and carry our second baby. For now, however, Brittany can have the honour of going through child birth and I just hoped that this couple would get the chance to have their own baby too.

Listening to them, Brittany nodded and gave her a soft smile. "You'll get there," she said, warmly and comfortingly. She then shrugged her shoulder and looked back at me for a second before turning back to them. "If we are lucky enough to be blessed with a baby then you will be too," then she beamed at them one of her happiest smiles: a smile she only ever really gave to me. "At least you guys have all of the parts!" Even though it may have been a touchy subject for everyone in the room, the tension was lifted with that one statement. The woman chuckled and so did the man, near by the other couples laughed too and I then felt incredibly proud. They may not be able have a baby, ever, but at least Brittany had eased them if only temporarily. She stood up with a final pat on the woman's knee and then walked back to me, smiling at me. I smiled back and tried to convey just how proud I was of her and just how happy and glad and blessed I was that was my wife. Once she sat down I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her too me. Pressing my lips against her temple I whispered; "You are the most awesome woman in the world." She giggled and shook her head, probably thinking that I was the most awesome woman. Where I had a fancy psychology degree and a diploma that said I was only really specialised in helping people with anger management and not lashing out at people, my wife had the confidence and kindness to help people in a really small but really significant way. That was what made her awesome, and she couldn't possibly disagree.

Our touching moment was cut short by the announcement of the younger wife in the room. "You're both not the only ones who are having trouble." Her voice was light and slightly nasally and usually that would annoy me, but I had to practice what I preached. Brittany was always reminding me of what my job was: helping people deal with their anger and frustrations. I had to ignore what was bothering me about her and focus on something else and if that failed, then I simply had to do the old fashioned 'Breathe deep and count to ten' trick. Her large eyes were scanning everyone's faces and stretched her smile out wider on her face. "Rory here is having trouble getting it up," she announced and patted her husband's thigh. The poor guy looked slightly mortified and his cheeks turned even darker when the woman spoke up again, "He also can't ejaculate very well. Some of his boys just don't want to swim and won't go anywhere. I think they're just lazy and-"

"Sugar I don't think everyone wants to know that!" He squeaked, trying to silence his talkative and overly personal wife. The guy's thick Irish accent was a little hard to understand, due to how rapid his speech was. I felt bad for the guy; his eyes were as wide as anything and his face as pink as a rose. His wife – Sugar – smiled at him and pressed her equally pink lips to his pale cheek. "Sorry, my little Leprechaun," she apologised sweetly, "I just wanted to make these guys feel better." She shrugged and smiled at everyone in the room innocently. I caught Rory's eye and gave him a friendly smirk.

For a little while after this revelation the tension was lifted and everyone appeared to relax a little more. It was only a few minutes later did Brittany's name get called and we were then lead into an examination room. I felt suddenly sick with worry and anxiety; my nerves were back tenfold! Everything suddenly looked so scary. I could only imagine how scared Brittany was feeling, knowing she would have to be on that bed/couch/whatever they called, and lie down wearing nothing but a gown with her legs open for some stranger to look at. I was gulping fast and could feel my heart rate pick up, but just as I was about to totally freak out, Brittany squeezed and tugged on my hand. My eyes went to hers and I felt myself relax. She had a huge smile on her face. She didn't look scared at all and for a second, I was a little jealous. She didn't look calm; I could see the nerves in her eyes, but she was certainly not as scared as I was! "Don't be so scared, Sanny," She told me, pulling me over to the couch and sat me down with her. "Just think, this is the first day of the process of starting our family," She beamed and in turn made me beam back.

"You're right Britt," I nodded, sighing slightly and relieving a soft breath of nerves, "I'll calm down." Brittany nodded her head with me and then brought our entwined hands up to her mouth and pressed a hard kiss on the back of my hand, followed by a series of short pecks. The kisses made me smile and then giggle as he began to trail her pecks up and along my arm. "Britt-Britt behave!" I scolded playfully, and laughed as she shook her head and went cross eyed. With my other arm, I wrapped her into my body and pressed my own series of pecks onto her head and then rocked her against me.

Soon enough, like the nurse had said our doctor walked into the room, clutching onto a file I could see had Brittany's name on it. Her _full _name, which made me really, really happy to see. I expected it to, but I could just imagine going to another clinic and them only having Brittany's 'maiden' name on her files, like in a lot of official documents. What I also liked about this clinic, was that we were treated with respect. What really made my nerves calm down a little bit though, was our Cheshire cat grinning doctor. She was tall – about the same height as me – clearly athletic to some degree and smiley and Brittany instantly liked her; whether that was because of her huge shinning dark blue eyes or large smile, it didn't matter: once Brittany liked a person it was hard for her to then dislike them. Her white coat was crisp and bright, her long brown hair flowed over one shoulder and her general peppiness was infectious. She was clearly older than us, but she had this childlike look and air about her: full of excitement and anticipation, like she was just waiting for something unbelievably amazing to happen! Her bright red lipstick smile was wide enough for three people and she greeted Brittany with her hand stretched out. "Hi there, Mrs Lopez-Peirce and," She then turned to me and her smile faulted slightly unsure as how to address me. I then grasped hold of her hand and smirked through my nerves; "Just call us Santana and Brittany; it would probably get confusing otherwise." As soon as we had shook hands and I had explained that we should drop the formalities, her large smile fixed itself back onto her face and she moved to sit on her chair by the large machine. She swivelled herself round and beamed up at us; "Well, my name is Harmony, or Doctor Pearce if you prefer, and I'll be your doctor. Although, technically I'll be your Reproductive Endocrinologist. But you can call me Harmony or Doctor Pearce."

As she scribbled down something on one the file papers, Brittany squeezed my hand and looked me with a happy beam: no doubt because of their last names being the same – except in spelling. She then bounced on her section of the couch and giggled; "I like the name Harmony," to which our happy doctor looked up with another striking smile, "I think I'll call you that if it's okay?" Harmony then nodded her head enthusiastically and then shifted her eyes to look at me. Where this doctor seemed really friendly and informal, I still wanted to refer to her as a doctor. She wasn't our friend – as of yet anyway as far as Brittany was concerned – and I wanted to keep our relationship strictly business like and professional. Back in my old job, I would never allow a patient to call me 'Santana'. I didn't want them to call me 'Doctor' either. Yes, technically I was a 'doctor' but not like Rachel Berry's father. He was Doctor Berry. Technically with me and Brittany we were Doctor and Mrs Lopez-Peirce, but with my patients, they called me 'Snix'. Aunty Snix sometimes. It was cool and allowed them to feel comfortable but still had that professionalism. At school, Senorita Lopez was just perfect. When writing a form, I only ever really put 'Doctor' down unless it was absolutely necessary, but considering I was taking a break from that line of work "Mrs Lopez" worked out well. Giving our own doctor a weak smile, I shrugged one shoulder and relented; "If you don't mind, I'd rather call you Doctor Pearce." Beside me I caught out of the corner of my eye Brittany raise her eyebrow at me in a 'Come on San!' manor. But I wasn't going to back down. Besides, it wasn't really that important. At some point, we were both going to call her 'Doc' or 'Doctor' at some point just like some of my patients did; why not start at the beginning?

"So," Doctor Pearce clapped, placing the brown file on the keyboard of the (what I could only guess was a sonogram) machine and relaxed her smile at me us. Clearly the excitement was leaving her system and I was a little glad about it. I wanted her to be nice and happy, but also serious: she was going to be basically in charge of transforming us from a couple into a family and I wanted her to be professional about it. Once the baby was born, then yes, she could be happy and jolly. I felt myself stiffen and slip into Senorita Lopez mode. My back straightened and my head rose slightly. The only part of me that stayed 'Santana' was my grip on Brittany's hand: it was still hard but comforting and that wasn't going to change. "I understand that you two want to have a baby?" Where I thought it was an annoyingly obvious question and just rolled my eyes slightly, Brittany nodded her head so enthusiastically, I had to laugh and little and give her hand a few tight squeezes so she wouldn't accidentally throw her beautiful blonde head off her long luscious neck! Doctor Pearce then laughed too at my wife's enthusiasm and then carried on. "Okay well, I just need to ask you a few questions," she then took hold of the file and clicked her pen. "Okay so Brittany," she addressed, and my wife sat up straighter than before. "You'll be the one that will be carrying the baby, correct?" Brittany nodded her head and smiled excitedly. Her excitement made me excited once again and I nodded my head as well. Nodding her head too, Doctor Pearce wrote something down and carried on. "By carrying the baby, I assume it is going to be your eggs that are going to be used for the pregnancy?" Again we both nodded, but this time Brittany turned her head to me and raised her eyebrows.

I wasn't sure why she was giving me this look. Especially now. I guess it was a chance for me to change my mind and say that _I _wanted to be the one to 'have' the baby first and for the baby to be 'mine'. But I wasn't going to change my mind. We'd discussed that Brittany was going to carry and 'have' the baby. It would still be both of ours, but for technicality speaking, our first baby would biologically be Brittany's and someone else's. I'm fine with that, and I guess this was why Brittany was silently asking one more time. Smiling softly at her, I picked up Brittany's hand and kissed the back it and her knuckles. "Yes Brittany is going to have the baby and she's going to carry it too," I told the doctor, not taking my eyes off of Brittany's bright blue ones. "And I really can't wait for her to be pregnant so I can take even more care of her than I already do." Touched by my words, Brittany cooed quietly – blushing slightly – and then leaned into me to give me a soft peck on my lips: our first 'real' kiss since walking into the building.

Bringing us back into the reality from our 'expectant couple' moment was Doctor Pearce's voice. "Okay, now that we've established which one of you is carrying the baby, I need to ask you about your other...er…" She then looked a little unsure as what she was trying to say. I had an idea that she was going to ask about sperm, and so I spoke for her. "We're aware that we need another important ingredient to be added into the mix so we can have a baby." I smiled stiffly at her and then kindly as Brittany. I knew this doctor was trying to just be professional by giving us information but also respecting us, but as my leg began to bounce with more nerves, I just wanted her to speak plainly: we needed sperm, and I didn't have any. This was the section of the conversation part I was a little unsure about. Brittany and I hadn't discussed sperm. All we had talked about was the fact we needed it. Together we had agreed it would be better to discuss in the environment of the clinic. In a way, for me I guess it was because I didn't want to associate some guy's 'stuff' being in our home. It wouldn't be _in_ our home, but I also didn't want to talk much about it at or in our home. Silently Brittany agreed. She wanted just as much as I did for me to just be able to give her a child, and didn't want to dwell on the fact we needed a guy. We were both intelligent and realistic people but we could still dream.

Like a preteen learning about reproduction, whenever Brittany said the word 'sperm' I would mock retch and pretend to gag, stick my fingers in my ears and sing "La, la, la, la" really loudly. Brittany would laugh and chase me around the house, calling out "Sperm! Sperm! Sperm!" Once she grabbed hold of me just as I was about to run into the bathroom. She picked me up, still chanting her new favourite word and swung me around, taking me into the bedroom against me will. "I don't want to hear it Brittany!" I cried out her name for as long as my lungs could handle it, and I probably would have stretched it out even further if Brittany hadn't dropped me onto the bed and crashed on top of me. Her fingers then attached themselves to my sides and being attacking me. I couldn't keep up the fight of singing out my tune and I laughed and laughed, choking on them. "Spermy sperm, spermy sperm!" Brittany's cries got quieter and quieter as her lips got closer and closer to mine, her fingers stopping their assault and began to rub my sides in a comforting, loving way. She pressed her lips to mine and I wrapped my arms around her long neck. Her blonde hair tickled my face but I didn't care. She had her lips pressed against mine and had stopped 'being gross'. Not for too long though, because once she released her lips from our kiss she whispered "Sperm" one more time and then it wasn't spoken of again for the rest of the night, as our lips had better things to 'cry out'.

Releasing a breath of relief, Doctor Pearce nodded her head. "Right," she bobbed and then looked at the both of us. "Have you two discussed how it is you're going to go about getting the sperm?" She raised her eyebrows at us in curiosity and we both shook our heads. She nodded her head and scribbled more onto the page. "Well, there are two options you can go for. The first one is called Artificial Donor Insemination and the second is Directed Donor Insemination." She took a breath and looked at us both to make sure we so far understood what she had said. It wasn't hard yet; we had two options, simple! Once she was sure we knew what she was talking about she told about the two different kinds of insemination we could go for. She spoke slowly and paused in her doctor's monologue so we could understand exactly what she was saying.

"Well, they are both used in the same way. That is, once you have your sperm specimen we can freeze it and inseminate it here at the clinic, or if you prefer at home." She took a pause and looked at us expectantly, to which I then spoke up and said we would both prefer to have the inseminations done in the clinic. Doctor Pearce then wrote that down and continued. "The procedure is painless and simple so you don't need to worry about getting hurt or something like that," she assured Brittany and then looked at me, making sure we both knew that there wouldn't be any pain. She probably had experience with some women freaking out at the idea of something being stuck inside them and it hurting and their partners being equally worried and equally freaked out because the person they love is hurt. Doctor Pearce then carried on with her explanation. "This one is where the specimen is from a licenced sperm donor bank which has been stored and is then thawed when you're ready to use it. Donor insemination, or the more technologically advanced intrauterine insemination 'IUI'," she used actual air quotes for that, "Can be performed either during a natural menstrual cycle or a cycle in which ovulation is enhanced by the oral medication Clomid." Next to me I head Brittany mumble the new word 'Clomid' and I smiled softly at her. "Using Clomid," Doctor Pearce told us, "Ensures significantly higher pregnancy success and shorter duration of treatment." Telling us that we would get a higher chance of getting Brittany pregnant, my wife squealed slightly and I pressed a light kiss to her cheek to keep her from bursting. "The difference between the two," Doctor Pearce carried on, "Is that the second one is slightly more personal due to the fact you may choose from the list according to ethnic background, body build, eye colour, hair colour and skin tone as well as education, profession and hobbies of your sperm donor." Brittany squealed louder at this one and I knew that she was going to want to take that route.

Taking the cue from Brittany's outburst, Doctor Pearce grinned at us, explaining this is how the first option works as well, but then she continued to say; "However if you prefer a close relative in order to preserve genetic lineage, you will be using a 'directed sperm donor'. A directed sperm donor could be a sibling or other blood relative of the partner not wishing to conceive." She then turned to look directly at me and I bit my lip. I hadn't really thought about using a family member or a friend to be a sperm donor. A part of me felt that I should think of this option. On the one hand, if I used one of my cousin's sperm specimens, it meant that 'my blood' would also be in the baby's. But, then that would mean whenever they saw the baby – if they ever saw the baby – they would technically be that baby's father. As far as legalities go, it would be true. Even if I signed all the papers in the world and had my name on the birth certificate, they would still be their father and in the long run, that could make me bitter and angry towards my family. Shaking my head, I didn't want to think about using a friend. It was the same problem with having a family member. As far as I was concerned the sperm had to come from someone we didn't know and would never know. That way, we would always be our baby's parents and no one else could get in the way and interfere with our family.

"No," I said firmly and brought Brittany's hand up to my lips again. "No I…I think we should stick with a stranger." I looked at Brittany and shrugged my shoulders at her; "I want this baby to be ours and it won't be if someone we know is sort of involved." I dipped my head slightly, thinking about the technicalities of it all. "I want our baby to have aunts and uncles but not a 'father'. Father _figures_ sure, but I want to be its mom and I want you to be its mommy. The same as when it comes for me to have a baby. I want _us_ to be parents and no one else. No dads or daddies, just moms and mommies." I hadn't realised my voice cracked and a few tears had spilled until Brittany dabbed under my eyes and my cheeks with a tissue Doctor Pearce had handed her. She let go of my hand, only to take it with her other one, and pulled me close to her. "We _are_ our baby's moms Santana," she whispered, trying to keep calm and be soothing. "Any and all children we have will be ours and no one can take that away from us. Our son or daughter will have a mom and mommy, or a mama and a mami. No dad or daddy, no dada and no papi. Just _us_." Sniffling loudly as I looked into her bright eyes, I cracked a smile and mumbled; "Te amo" to which she smiled softly and pressed her lips to my forehead in a light kiss.

Again, our couple moment was put to a stop when Doctor Pearce spoke up. "In that case," she said, taking out small textbook size booklet documentation and handing it to Brittany. "I think I can hand this to you and the both of you can go home and flick through it, see what kind of sperm you would like." Brittany held the document in her hands and we both stared at it as if it was the key to a magical castle from a story book or the secret to all the world's unanswerable questions. It was amazing and scary to think that inside these pages could possibly be the sperm that we needed for our baby. "Awesome," Brittany mumbled in awe and she held it to her chest tightly. The action made me giggled and I mock tried to take it from her, to which she stuck her tongue out and winked at me. Doctor Pearce then stood up and turned on the machine. It whirring into life startled me and I wasn't sure what was going on, until I saw her clicking a few buttons. She turned to face us and then said; "Okay, now the final part of our meeting," she looked at Brittany and asked her to life up her top and lie down so she could perform an ultrasound exam on her; "Just a formality," she told us and I hopped off the bed.

I swear, I had never gripped onto Brittany's hand so tightly before – not when we were getting married, no when we watched a scary movie together, not ever! Even though she was only checking to make sure she could (somehow) accurately time and count Brittany's ovulation period and menstrual cycle and to make sure there were no abnormalities with her uterus, it was still a slightly scary experience. But, the whole time she was "Taking a look" I tried to think of it as practice for when there really was something to look at inside Brittany. Right now, all we could see was black and grey and a few spots of white. It was Brittany's uterus, so it was beautiful, but really not all that exciting. Not like when we would see our baby inside her: that would make an exciting video. I had also never relieved such a big sigh of relief for when she told us that Brittany's uterus looked "Completely healthy and normal". Brittany chuckled at me and told to me to relax. I smiled at her and thought that I didn't think I would relax until I was holding our baby in our arms. And even then I would only relax for a second, because then I would be a parent: the most stressful and difficult job in the world!

I'd worked with angry businessmen, angry sportsmen and just angry people in general and that was a stressful job. Being a parent, I knew for a fact, would be way more stressful than that job and their own jobs put together. And we were both too excited.

Soon enough, our appointment was over and we were back in the car driving home from having made a follow up appointment for the next few days. When I had said I wanted the next appointment to be as soon as possible, Brittany raised an eyebrow at me and asked if I was sure. Frowning at her I nodded and said, "Of course! I want to get you pregnant as soon as possible. It shouldn't take us too long to find sperm, and I want to start making us a family as soon as possible!" I then beamed at her and kissed her lips and then her cheeks and finally her eyes, because she was being adorable by squirming away with a light tint to her cheeks. We didn't see the older couple when we came out or when we were in the parking lot. Brittany commented that she was disappointed because she wanted to wish them luck. In the car, I saw her eyebrows were knitted closely together and she was in one of her thinking moods. Pulling to a halt at a stop sign, I looked over and saw her thinking harder. "Brittany?" I said, getting her to come out of her thinking stage. When she turned her head she waited for me to speak and smiled at her. "Why don't we pray for them?" I hadn't seen her eyes bug out of her head so largely before – at least not in a while – and she stuttered; "Are you sure?" And I giggled, nodding my head and pulling off again, since it was only a short red light. "Of course," I commented, concentrating on the road, "I may not make a habit of praying, but it's for a good couple like us so why not?" Even though I wasn't watching her, I saw Brittany smile even bigger than before and she took hold of my hand on the gear stick.

Religion and faith were not a big part of my life. Where Brittany still liked the idea of God and such, for me it was a bit of a touchy subject considering when I came out to my abuela she had said I was a sinner in her eyes and God's. Sure, I knew that it couldn't really be true considering in my mind there were much worse sins that being gay or a lesbian, but it still set me back and I hadn't really prayed much since. When studying for my psychology degree and my exams to be a fully qualified therapist, I knew that I was putting my hurt and anger against my abuela to God because I knew He couldn't hurt me in the same way as she had. But that didn't mean I was in the wrong, it just meant I didn't really go to church and I didn't really pray. But that was probably going to change. Considering I could see now just how hard and challenging having a baby really was, I felt I should give us a great chance in having one. Both of us; me and my wife and the other couple who had clearly waited so long for such a precious gift. So I made sure that when we got home, we would spend a few minutes that night praying to the Lord and hoping that the both of us – ourselves and the other couple – got pregnant quickly and had healthy, happy, beautiful children. The children we had always wanted and probably deserved.

To Brittany, religion was slightly more important. She was always so in awe about magic and miracles, beauty and innocence of what I considered to be supernatural. She wasn't a girl that went to church every Sunday and read her bible before bed, but it was important to her. Sometimes, every now and then, I would catch her deep in thought or mumbling little prayers. Mostly they were about us, for instance if I had a particularly difficult patient or she had a showcase coming up that she wanted to go well. But other times, the times that made me be extra romantic to her, she would pray for the world: pray for bad things to stop happening to good people and for people to stop hurting one another. She would have deep conversations that consisted of questions and little rants and she would then huff, shake her head and sigh; "Any way, thank you God. Thank you for at least making me and Santana happy and good." I don't know if she was religious or spiritual, but whatever she was, she was amazing and the fact she wanted to pray to this couple more than pray for us touched my heart.

That night once we were ready for bed, we sat up against our backboard and held hands with our eyes closed. She spoke for us, but in my mind I made own prayer: to make this coming year as smooth as possible for us. All of us. For us to blessed with the babies we had always wanted. With Brittany finishing with a simple, "Amen", I didn't detach my hand from hers, but I pulled to towards me and kissed her softly on the lips. "You really are amazing," I whispered softly and before she could say anything back, I pulled her against my chest and snuggled her into me. We fell asleep in a loving embrace and dreamt of the amazing future we both hoped we would have.

* * *

_Quinn Fabray:_

Over the Christmas break, the school board must have decided that we should try and lose our holiday weight as soon as possible. I think this because on our first gym class back during the middle of the week, I thought our teacher was trying to kill us. Granted, she doesn't try to kill us as badly as Coach Sylvester does with her Cheerios, but bad enough to know I was glad I didn't live on the top of a hill or slope or something. If I did, then I know I would probably need a sledge or something to pull me up. My legs were stinging and my thighs were burning like mad! Coach Beiste was kind of ruthless when it came to physical training and making sure we could be our best. Where Coach Sylvester was the same, Coach Beiste did it with a fraction more kindness and compassion i.e. she let us choose if we wanted to do push ups or sit ups as a punishment for if our team or side lost at an exercise. Coach Sylvester would never allow us mere mortals to have a choice in something. Hell would probably freeze over first. And even then something even more impossible would have to happen first. Like the creepy kid with the camera and afro to stop following every Cheerio around and being creepy and stalkerish by trying to subtly see up their skirts. And then something more impossible would have to happen!

Bottom line, we were really worked up during our gym classes that I was actually looking forward to our shower!

Normally I hate showering after gym class: always have and probably always will. I really hate the idea of having to take _all_ of our clothes off then showering in school. It just seems wrong to do so. I mean, of course I know _why_ we have to shower after gym – not only would be stink, but we could get sick too – but it's just super annoying. It just feels wrong to strip in school. You see it in movies all the time where the girl goes into the stall to shower and then she comes out only to find she's covered in bubbles and has no clothes or towel to hide her nakedness. Only, this after gym class shower was a little different to the ones before the winter break. The difference was, I could not for the life of me take my eyes away from Rachel's perfect little body.

Rachel clearly didn't need to worry about losing those extra holiday pounds, or any pounds at all for that matter. She was perfect. Not skinny like some of the Cheerios, but slim and not just slim but curvy too. She had 'womanly curves' but also just perfect curves. It's not like I had been looking at them _a lot _but I had definitely noticed them. I mean, how could I? Since she was my friend, we got changed next to each other in the locker room and we made sure we were picked on the same team. Besides, even if none of that existed, I also still wouldn't be able to take my eyes off of her perfect, petite, pretty body because…well…I just couldn't. I think Rachel was one of the only girls that really enjoyed the showering in school experience because it meant she could serenade us all with her beautiful-better-than-angels singing voice and say "Hey, I sing in the shower at home, why not here?" It was probably the only thing that got me through my shower at school. My record for having a fast shower was four minutes and thirty eight seconds; the rest of my locker time was me trying not to look pervy by waiting around just to hear the end of one of Rachel's Broadway numbers.

Back in the locker room after gym class, none of the girls cared about privacy. No one really cared much anyway; pretty much all of the girls walked around in nothing but their underwear and sports bras anyway. The only privacy they really paid attention to was when they went into the actual shower cubicles with their shampoo, shower gel and towels. They were only really private when they were completely and utterly stark naked. Well, of course not _all_ of the girls were so open with flaunting their bodies around the girl's locker room. Me especially. Back at my old school I didn't care much for the body displays and preferred to change in the bathroom stalls. I got called a prude and made fun of by the fact if I couldn't change in front of other girls, how was I supposed to change in front of a guy? Still, I just held my high and said I'd rather stay a virgin in high school then just sleep with guys to make a point. What point exactly, I wasn't really sure. To them I would rather be a prude, to the girls here, I didn't care. I was just another girl in the year group and nothing special. The one girl, who was completely special and brilliant, was the girl whose body I couldn't stop gazing at.

"Even though I work out daily on my elliptical, go for runs at the weekend, play with a very active baby sister _and _have dance classes along with Glee Club, I can say without a doubt that was one of the most _exhausting_ gym classes I have ever had the displeasure of partaking in!" Rachel complained in her oh-so-typically-Rachel-Berry way. I chuckled breathlessly as I untied my shoe on the bench. She always had something to say about all of her classes. Where a lot of people found it annoying, I found it cute. It was good to see she really cared about all aspects of her education and not just the stuff she was interested in. More people should probably take notice of their education as much as she does. For example, she doesn't just say why a class was good or bad; she provides reason why. It shows she was listening and taking in information, but mostly, it showed she cared and thought about the things she was being taught. She was definitely one of those students that really thought about what they learned and thought of their own view or opinion and didn't just regurgitate it for an exam or a homework assignment. She was pretty amazing like that.

With her hands on her surprisingly small waist, she stood over me and continued with another rant about how she couldn't possibly see how Coach Beiste managed to fit in that much exercise into a one hour period slot; concluding with the fact that she must have stopped time. However, as much as I loved to hear Rachel hypothesise and talk, her words were no match for the distraction that was her body. At some point she must have realised we didn't have long before our next class started and she had to begin getting undressed. Due to the work out/sergeant drill we were put through, her usually loose fitting t-shirt was clinging to her body and it was making her nipples poke out. She also had a little bit of sweat outlining her breasts. It was these two er…_items_ that I couldn't keep my eyes off. My shoe was completely forgotten and I just gaped at her. Where I loved her stomach – from how flat and toned it was to the tiny little freckles on it from too much sun, even though she was naturally quite tanned – her breasts at this point were a real fascination.

Especially when she began to strip.

Surely I was living a teenage boy's wet dream. There was, still ranting and raving about more sports related activities we could do in our gym classes, rather than just running laps and doing boring exercise that we could do any time, like doing something we would enjoy like softball, basketball or even gymnastics, in just her bra and shorts. Her bra. It was…amazing. It was a typical sports bra, black with a fluorescent pink strip under the cups, but the way it hugged her boobs together and the way said boobs would rise and fall with each deep breath she took just kind of made my mouth go a little dry. What really made me hold my breath, however, was when I suddenly noticed her nipples. I hadn't just seen ridges in her top: those little bumps _really_ were her nipples. I knew what nipples looked like, hello I have my own! But seeing the outline of hers was really, really…I don't know…turning me on? It was true when people said leaving things to the imagination was better. I could imagine how they looked – dusty pink maybe? Or perhaps a little darker than mine because of her darker sink tone? They would be perfect too. Little bumps like all nipples, but they wouldn't be too big or too small. They would just be…I don't know…perfect, beautiful nipples! Whatever 'perfect beautiful' nipples were! – leaving it up to my imagination was probably the best idea, but then the worse because I suddenly began thinking of other things. I hadn't really looked at her lower half, but I found eyes wandering down from her breasts, down her stomach and shamefully resting on where I knew her other _private area_ was.

And then my cheeks flushed redder then our gym uniforms!

"Quinn, are you all right?" Rachel asked, suddenly concerned that my face was super-hot and super red. As weird as it felt, I couldn't stop imagining what she looked like _down there_. I kind of knew what I looked like, but then…Rachel wasn't me. Rachel had a boyfriend. They may not have had sex, but they were still hormonal teenagers who have probably done other stuff. Was she shaved? Or waxed? Was she natural and didn't do anything down there? And what about the _other bit_? What did that look like? Was she pink like me? Or was she slightly darker? What did she feel like? Was she smooth and velvety – especially when she got wet – or was she…what? Why was I thinking this? I couldn't think this!

Suddenly – at least felt sudden – I stood up and mumbled, "I gotta go shower!" And I grabbed my stuff as quickly as possible. Once in the cubicle, I threw off my clothes as fast as I could and left them in a pile outside. I didn't care if my movie came true and someone stole them; they'd have to be pretty weird to want to steal my sweaty t-shirt, shorts, sports bra and pants. My _wet _pants, I noticed. That would just be embarrassing if anyone saw – how could someone get wet like _that_ in gym? But I didn't care. All I cared about was reliving the stupidly brought on sexual tension and frustration. I knew exactly why they called it sexual frustration. I was so _frustrated_ with myself. God! Why did I have to think of her breasts and then her…um…_place_?! And in school! It was weird and stupid and…and why? Why did I do that? Why is she so beautiful and perfect? Why is she so innocent but sexy at the same time? How is it possible she is sexy and innocent? It shouldn't be allowed. It's like say a puppy is innocent with a sexy side; it's not possible! It's not fair. But then, life isn't fair. God it really isn't fair.

The water raining down on me was cold, but not too cold and after a little while of being burned by it – as oxymoronic as that is – I turned it up a bit and started to actually get clean. I never washed my hair after gym. There was no point. It added time when I could be getting to class or talking with Rachel, so I only had to wash my body. I hated that too; touching my body in school. I guess I needed to now, but I just wouldn't touch it in the _right_ way. I wouldn't enjoy. This would only be so I could get clean. But as I ran my fingers through myself, I felt just how much my body _had_ enjoyed me thinking about Rachel. It was slick and easy to glide through. It felt…nice?

No. I couldn't do this. I couldn't touch myself like that whilst in school. I needed to distract myself. So whilst washing the rest of my body, I decided to hum. Humming was a good distraction. Right? Of course, the humming turned into light singing. It was a song I heard on the radio that morning; 'This is Country Music' by Brad Paisley. A favourite of mine. I loved how soft and slow it began and then slowly gets faster and happier, even though the ending was basically talking about death. I liked the fact the song was about the whole genre of country music. Not a lot of people in my school like country music because they say it's for Red Necks and people from the Deep South and the Bible Belt. But if they really listened to some of the songs, they are really beautiful and soulful; not just religious.

"Quinn is that you?" Crap. Rachel had heard me singing. "Quinn your voice is beautiful, why haven't I heard it before?!" I could just picture the excited look on her face: huge smile and even bigger eyes. "Quinn, either come out or keep singing!" Rolling my eyes I shut off the shower. Now that she had heard me, there was no way I was singing any more. Singing just…I don't know…wasn't my thing. Reading and writing and painting and being creative like that, that was more my thing. Not singing. Singing was for her. Singing was her thing, not mine. "Can you pass me my towel?" I asked, realising I had thrown that over the top of the cubicle too. Moments later my WMHS towel was passed over and I wrapped it around my body.

Opening the door of the shower I froze in horror as I saw she was holding my clothes in her arms. I just hoped to God that she hadn't felt how wet – and gross – my pants were. "Er so you heard me sing?" I stuttered, reaching out for my gym stuff. Like how I predicted, she nodded her head wildly and grinned even bigger. "I think you should join Glee Club!" Back in the locker room I frowned at her and laughed; "No way. I don't do singing in public." I then proceeded to get dry and dressed, shielding my body away from her so she didn't see me. Again, as I predicted, the onslaught of begging me to join Glee Club followed. "Oh please Quinn!" She begged, holding my towel so I had some privacy whilst putting on my fresh pants and regular bra. "Your voice is amazing and unlike any other voices we have in the club! You're completely unique and special and-"

"And I'm not joining," I told her with a light chuckle as I indicated for my pants. She grabbed hold of my jeans and handed them to me. "Please Quinn. You are seriously amazing! You could really show the freshmen what real singing is." I was intrigued by this statement, and once I had put my socks and sneakers on, I raised an eyebrow at her.

"Real singing?" I asked, wondering what she meant. Her little perfect head began bobbing and she folded my towel for me, once she had passed me my shirt. "You sing with meaning and with soul. Where I'm not a huge country fan myself, I know that that is what that genre is all about: singing with passion and belief. It's like Broadway; singing about something that you believe in with such a truth and a passion that it just consumes you and brings you to tears!" She had that far away starlet dreamy look in her eyes and in that moment my knees kind of buckled and my smile relaxed. "I don't think many country song reduce me to tears," I joked, knowing that almost every one of Rachel's top favourite Broadway songs did reduce her to tears, "But I'm pretty sure there's at least one that makes me almost to the point of crying." That seemed to get her back to the real world, because she then looked at me with that serious, catlike smouldering look. "So you'll audition?" I didn't even realise I had said or implied I would, but the way Rachel was looking at me and the way she sounded, I couldn't do anything but promise I would think about auditioning and _possibly_ joining. With a true Rachel Berry squeal and hug, I laughed and told her to grab her stuff before we were late for our class – even though the bell had only rung about five minutes ago for break.

For the short rest of the day, I thought about really joining Glee Club. I texted Kurt at one point and told him and knew he was excited by it, considering his message was written in block capitals and full of huge, grinning smiley faces, finished and topped off with far too many exclamation marks. I knew he loved singing. Our whole school knew he loved singing and dancing and, like Rachel, he loved Broadway too. He didn't love it as much as her, as fashion was his true calling, but he would always try to get me to sing or practice dances with him. At least now I was potentially joining Glee Club we would have even more to talk about and not argue about! Of course, when I got home and was eating dinner that night, my plans of even auditioning for Glee Club were kind of stumped by my father.

As usual we were eating dinner in almost silence when my mom turned to me and asked about my day. It was at this moment where I figured I might as well tell them about the club I was thinking about joining. Swallowing my mashed potatoes, I cleared my throat and told them. "It was good, pretty much the same except that Rachel asked me to join the school Glee Club." My father then frowned and looked at me. He asked me what a 'glee club' was and I told him – a little hesitantly – that it was like a choir, except instead of singing religious songs, they sang Broadway songs or popular songs of the time and put on performances and performed in nationwide competitions. The more I explained – babbled – the more I knew my pitch was going to be ignored and declined. He scoffed into his dinner and said; "Singing and dancing is a little juvenile isn't it? Wouldn't joining the seven times national competition winning cheer squad or a debate team or even a sports team, be more beneficial?" Of course, he would only be interesting in winning. Yes the Glee Club had won competitions, but he just wasn't interested in show business. He was also only looking at the 'future' side of things, and not the 'fun' side. The debate team showed that a person could hold an argument and be good in business, a sports team would show potential leadership and working well within a team, as well as the drive to win and succeed. And, of course, a cheerleader would mean I would be open up to finding a husband at some point.

Of course.

Needless to say, I wasn't allowed to join, let alone audition, for Glee Club. I ate the rest of my dinner in silence once I had pathetically tried to convince my dad that it wouldn't be a waste of my time and could be good for me, and later texted Rachel the bad news. That night sighed heavily as I stared up at my ceiling and contemplated what is was like to be able to not feel so pressured to be perfect. Rachel was perfect and she didn't need to try. Her parents allowed her to do whatever she wanted and she was so driven and achieved in everything. It wasn't fair. She was allowed to be free and I was forced to be moulded.

Before I went to sleep, I tried to think and imagined just how long it would be until I couldn't take it any longer and finally began being truthful to myself. Whatever the truth really was…

* * *

_Santana Lopez:_

One of our favourite things to do in the evening was read through the profiles of potential sperm and then go to bed dreaming about our baby. It appeared as if we – me especially – had baby brain on a permanent basis. Brittany had been adamant that she wanted a sperm donor who was just like me. Where this was sweet, thoughtful and exactly what I would want if I were in her shoes, I knew it wouldn't be possible. We would sit in bed together and flip through the pages that were specifically labelled: 'Latino'. Everything about the men was written in their profiles. From basic information like age, weight, height, eye and colour, their hobbies were listed too as well as their personalities. We had a little game of picking out the most exaggerated form of me which often ended in huge giggles and tickle fights when I would feign offence.

"Santana look this one is definitely you!" Brittany would say, and then proceed to read out the 'mirror image' description. She would clear her throat and put on her version of a 'teacher's voice'. "Likes sport; watching not playing. Enjoys food; eating it not cooking it. Loves cars; looking at them not driving them." I had to stop her because I thought she was making this guy up. He was a complete slob and nothing like me. Where I wasn't huge on sports I was definitely active and a whiz in the kitchen. I slapped her thigh and told her we had to get serious. This was our baby and where they would be perfect any way, we had to make sure we picked the right guy.

Eventually we settled on a guy who had gone on to law school, just over six feet tall and was of Puerto Rican and Argentinian descent. He fit almost everything; he had written that he did have somewhat of a fiery 'Latino temper' but wasn't aggressive, sporty but not overly so and had only ever smoked tobacco in high school. The only thing I didn't like was that he said he was also a musician on the side. Where Brittany said this was good as it showed our baby could possibly be the next Mozart or something, I said that as long as our baby didn't drop out of school to be in a band, they could be as musical as they wanted!

We were giddy and full of excitement. We had picked out our sperm – as weird as that sounded – and were going to start the process of having a baby for real. It was happening! It was really happening! What Brittany had been waiting for so long for was finally happening, and I was so happy for her. For the three days we waited for our next appointment, I practically made love to her stomach, just imagining the baby already inside her and growing. She would giggle and stroke my hair whilst I was under the cover, talking and babbling about how I couldn't wait until there really was a baby – our baby – inside her. I would then proceed to kiss and lick and…well basically make out, with her fantastic stomach just to show my appreciation of the place that was going to carry around the most important person in the world; our baby, the miracle that would make us from being a couple into a family.

…Where this baby brain was a good thing for us at home, at work it wasn't such a good thing.

It was the day before our first insemination appointment and I couldn't help but grin all throughout the day. In all my classes I couldn't help but tone down the excitement I was feeling. I was less threatening and some of the idiot boys in the hallways had the nerve to actually shout a question of had I finally gotten laid? I didn't _get laid _I got _made love to _by the most beautiful woman in the world, who would soon become even more beautiful by becoming pregnant. I grinned so much with just thinking of what our baby could look like and be like when it was born and growing up, that I had attracted the attention of Will and Emma. During lunch when we were eating together, Will brought up the questioning process as to why I was so happy.

"What's gotten you so happy then Santana?" He asked, taking a huge bite out of his sandwich that Emma must have made and packed for him. She nodded her head and wiped her spotless mouth as she agreed; "Yes I've heard from a few students saying that you're a lot more smiley than usual." At her statement I cocked my head at her and begged her to continue with the raise of an eyebrow. "It's just that," she continued, looking down at her neatly prepared food, "You aren't as feisty today, again that I heard other students say." I laughed at her statement and this caused even more confusion for the couple, as well as the rest of the faculty members.

Casually shrugging, I got up to make my dramatic mysterious exit. My smile was more of a smirk as I dusted my skirt and picked up my empty lunch box and told them, with an air of nonchalance, "I guess I'm just growing up!"


End file.
